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LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Clots 


«x  libris 


*  T.Ul.tces 


I  '  It 


IDEALINA:  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


IDEALINA; 


AND 


BY 

HARRY  QUILLEM. 


Scm 


PUBLISHED  BY  COOKE,  KENNY  &  CO. 

MONTGOMERY  STREET,  CORNER  MERCHANT. 

1853. 


CONTENTS. 


1.  IDEALINA. 

2.  THE  LOVER'S  SIGH. 

3.  MARY. 

4.  SONNETS. 

5.  MIDNIGHT  MUSINGS. 

6.  STANZAS. 

7.  UNBIND  THIS  WREATH. 

8.  LOVE  UNCHANGING. 

9.  OH  !  I  REMEMBER. 

10.  THE  MINIATURE. 

11.  LA  BAGATELLE. 

12.  THE  GIRL  ON  COLLINS  STREET. 

13.  POEM. 


141719 


DEDICATION 


TO 

HON.  DELOS  LAKE. 

IN  assuming  the  liberty  of  inscribing  to  you,  Sir,  the 
following  pages,  it  is  not  that  they  possess  any  merit 
entitling  them  to  so  flattering  and  distinguished  an  en 
dorsement,  but  simply  as  a  slight  testimonial  of  sincere 
friendship,  on  the  part  of  one,  who,  however  much  may 
be  his  deficiencies  in  the  style  of  meritorious  composi 
tion,  would  desire  to  give  some  evidence  of  his  apprecia 
tion  of  your  kind  heart,  your  cultivated  mind,  and  exalted 
character.  These  pages  are  mostly  the  product  of  my 
Boyhood's  fancy,  and  are  replete  with  the  evidences  of 
immatured  thought,  and  I  have  sought  to  preserve  them, 
not  with  the  vain  hope  of  being  able  to  rescue  them  from 
the  merited  oblivion  to  which  they  are  ultimately  des 
tined  ;  but  if,  from  the  partiality  of  friends,  (for  whose  eyes 
alone  they  are  intended,)  they  may  at  times  beguile  the 


Vlil  DEDICATION. 

monotony  of  duty  into  the  recreation  of  an  hour,  I  will 
have  realized  the  full  fruition  of  my  wishes.  For  the 
realization  of  this  hope,  I  do  not  doubt,  but  that  I  shall 
be  indebted  more  to  the  use  of  your  name,  than  to  any 
intrinsic  excellence  the  compositions  possess. 

With  the  assurance  of  my  friendly  intention,  and  with 
the  hope  that  the  liberty  thus  taken  will  not  displease 
you  beyond  the  favorable  prospect  of  reconciliation,  and 
with  an  anxious  desire  for  your  prosperity  and  happiness, 

I  subscribe  myself  respectfully, 

Your  obedient  and 

Humble  servant, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


IDEALIIA:      ;- 
A  METEICAL  PHANTASIE 


IN  FOUR  PARTS. 

'  PART  I.    •y.Mtfcana 

I. 

Our  life  is  all  a  mystery 

Too  subtle  for  the  finite  mind, 
And  oftener  'tis  the  wish  to  free 

The  thought  from  the  strong  chains  that  bind 
It  to  the  dark  study  of  earth — 

Its  good  and  ill  so  strangely  blended — 
Than  take  delight  in  giving  birth 

To  fancies  that  may  ne'er  be  ended ; 
Or  vainly  seeking  to  discover 

The  clue  to  that  forbidden  truth, 
That  from  the  dawn  of  thought  will  hover 

In  mist  around  the  dreams  of  youth. 


10  IDEALINA. 

And  oh,  that  mystic  thing,  the  heart ! 

How  frail  its  hopes,  how  strong  its  fears  ! 
How  much  of  joy  it  can  impart, 

How  much  of  bitterness  and  tears  ! 
It  is  the  treasury  of  life 

In  which  all  thought,  emotion,  feeling 
Are  garnered  up,  and  oft  is  rife 

With  hope  and  pleasure's  sweet  revealing 
But  oftner  from  the  book  of  fate 

It  hoards  each  sorrow's  hateful  page, 
'Till  life  and  hope  are  desolate, 

And  nought  endears  earth's  pilgrimage. 
Unless  a  joy  it  is  to  be 
The  slave  and  curse  of  MEMORY  ! 

The  golden  visions  of  our  youth ! 

They  come  and  mock  us  with  their  spell,- 
They  seem  all  loveliness  and  truth, 

But  oh,  how  soon  the  sad  farewell 
Is  taken,  and  the  heart  repines 

For  pleasures  that  have  pass'd  away, 
And  hope  mourns  o'er  its  broken  shrines 

That  fast  are  mould'ring  in  decay. 

We  hurry  on  to  Manhood's  goal 

To  grasp  the  baubles  that  are  there  ; 

We  flee  to  age, — and  yet  the  soul 
Turns  back  to  Eden-joys  that  were, 

When  youth's  sweet  vision  of  life's  morn 
Was  like  a  sunbeam  on  the  heart, 


IDEALINA.  11 


And  all  the  dreams,  now  faded,  gone, 

Elysian  raptures  did  impart. 
For  feverish,  restless  are  the  years 

That  make  up  life's  maturer  prime  ; 
The  wrestle  and  the  strife  bring  tears 

For  homage  to  ambition's  shrine  ; 
The  tameless  passions  that  are  ours 

With  flick'ring  light  lead  far  astray 
The  reason,  whose  unguarded  powers 

They  lull  to  slumber — to  betray. 
Oh  then,  when  sated,  wearied,  palled 

With  the  feast  of  earthly  bitterness, 
How  often  are  the  dreams  recalled 

That  came  in  early  youth  to  bless, 
And  shed  o'er  life  a  sunny  beam 

As  bright  as  passing  meteor's  gleam, 
And  yet  as  transient  in  its  light 
As  is  that  streaming  meteor's  flight. 


n. 


When  life  was  young, — in  boyhood's  time, 

I  clasp'd  a  vision  to  my  heart, 
Far  sweeter  than  a  poet's  rhyme, 

And  dearer  than  the  minstrel's  art ; 
A  dream  of  youth,  and  hope  and  love, 

Of  spring-time  with  its  golden  hours, 
When  all  of  earth,  around,  above, 

Seem'd  bright  as  summer's  garden  flow'rs. 


12  IDEALINA. 

The  heart  was  fresh  and  happy  then 
As  loves  that  bask  in  beauty's  rays  ;   , 

The  blight  of  time  had  seared  within 
No  hope  that  guiled  life's  better  days, 

Nor  then  affection's  blight  had  made 
A  wreck  of  almost  every  joy, 

Nor  reckless  passion  had  essay'd 
Its  guiltier  powers  to  employ  ; 

But  life  flowed  on,  a  quiet  stream, 

Whose  every  bubble  was  a  dream 
Of  more  than  earthly  happiness, 
Or  vision  of  entrancing  bliss. 

I  loved  !     It  was  no  form  of  earth 

That  won  my  heart's  first  sunny  dream, 
It  seem'd  that  nought  of  mortal  birth 

Could  shed  that  bright  and  blissful  beam 
Which  to  the  heart  was  kindly  given 
To  make  of  earth  a  Poet's  Heaven. 
It  was  the  coinage  of  the  brain, 

The  empress  of  my  fancy's  realm, 
To  whom  I  bowed  and  lisped  the  strain 

Of  youthful  love,  that  seemed  to  'whelm 
Me  in  its  tide  of  glowing  dreams 

'Till  life  was  nought  but  ecstacy, 
And  Heav'n  appeared  in  sunny  gleams 

To  hold  in  spell  th'  enraptured  eye. 
I  gazed  upon  that  visioned  form 

As  thus  it  glowed  in  fancy's  light, 
And  thoughts  impassioned,  pure  and  warm, 


IDEALINA. 

Sprang  up  in  stern,  resistless  might, 
Forcing  the  haunted  heart  to  be 
The  prey  to  vain  idolatry. 

Oh,  how  I  loved  that  image  fair 

As  glassed  upon  my  heart  it  lay  ! — 
More  lovely  than  the  Naiads  are, 

Or  Nymphs  that  wake  the  Poet's  lay,-— 
There  seemed  to  it  a  beauty  given 
More  gorgeous  e'en  than  tints  of  even. 
I  worshipped  with  a  heart  run  wild 

With  deep  excess  of  love,  and  then 
When  thus  by  passion's  dreams  beguiled, 

And  all  was  burning  woe  within, 
I  pined  in  grief  that  there  was  none 

Could  be  that  vision's  counterpart, — 
No  form  of  earth  to  be  the  sun 

Of  dreams  that  throng  th'  adoring  heart. 


ill. 

» 

A  bitter  doom  it  is  to  love 

And  know  thy  love  is  all' in  vain  ;     • 
To  feel  your  own  heart  deeply  move 

And  yet  no  kindred  love  may  gain ; 
To  live  uncheered  by  other's  smiles 

When  they  alone"  the  least  can  bless, 
And  know  no  kindly  heart  beguiles 

Your  own  with  loving  tenderness. 
2 


13 


14  IDEALIKA. 

And  bitter  'tis  to  be  alone, 

To  sigh  and  weep,  and  vainly  yearn 
For  music  of  some  gentle  tone 

To  which  the  heart  can  trusting  turn, 
And  drink  its  stream  of  earthly  bliss, 
Scarce  less  than  Heaven's  happiness  ; 
To  feel  a  thirst  we  cannot  still, 

A  hunger  that  the  soul  annoys, — 
The  restless  hope — the  feverish  thrill — 

The  wild  and  longing  wish  for  joys 
That  fortune  dooms  to  be  unsated — 

The  anxious  struggle,  and  the  woe 
To  every  disappointment  fated 

That  e'er  can  reach  the  heart  below, — 
Compared  to  this,  e'en  death  would  seem 

To  be  a  sweet,  refreshing  sleep, 
Whose  one  unbroken  sunny  dream, 

Would  leave  the  heart  no  more  to  weep. 

Oh,  I  have  felt  the  madd'ning  spell — 

This  chainless  impulse  to  aspire  ; 
Have  felt  the  agony  and  hell 

That  mocking  wait  on  vain  desire  ; 
Have  wished,  till  wish  became  a  curse 

From  which  my  thoughts  I  could  not  free, 
A  dark  and  horrid  phantom-nurse, 

To  haunt  the  cells  of  memory. 
I  longed  for  that  ideal  love 

That  claimed  the  homage  of  my  soul, 
The  being  whom  I  deemed  would  prove 


IDEALINA.  15 

The  heart's  best  prize  and  blissful  goal ; 
And  still  I  worshipped  on,  and  still 

The  aching  void  was  in  my  heart, 
Which  time,  nor  strength,  nor  hope  could  fill,. 

Or  dream  of  pleasure  once  impart ; — 
It  is  a  bitter  doom  to  be 

The  sport  and  child  of  misery  ! 


IV. 


As  years  grew  on,  I  felt  my  brow 

With  shade  of  cank'ring  thought  o'ercast, 
The  thought  that  lingered  on  the  vow 

And  vision  of  the  early  past, 
The  secret  longing  I  had  nursed, 

The  struggle  and  the  heart's  aspirings, 
And  all  the  tumult  that  at  first 

Gave  token  of  the  soul's  desirings. 
My  nature  that  was  coined  in  love, 

Still  fed  upon  its  passion-food, 
Which  sweet,  though  dimly  understood, 

Seemed  types  and  tokens  from  above ; 
For  love  is  something  not  of  earth, 

A  yearning  for  the  good  denied, 
It  owns  a  bright  Elysian  birth 

And  there  by  angels  deified  ; 
It  is  the  restless,  vain  desire 

For  what  on  earth  may  not  be  given, 
Th'  unbodied  wishes  that  inspire 


16  IDEALINA. 

The  fondest  hopes  and  dreams  of  Heaven. 
For  who  can  truly  love,  and  feel 

The  heart's  wild  visions  all  possessed, 
Or  deem  that  passion  can  reveal 

No  wish  with  deeper  joy  impressed  ? 
'T  were  vain  !     Love  never  grants  the  full 

Of  bliss  or  rapture  it  inspires, 
But  leaves  unsated  still  the  soul 

That's  racked  with  fond  and  vain  desires. 
These  are  alike  our  bliss  and  doom, 

The  sweeter  life  we  sometimes  feel, 
And  then,  the  shadow  and  the  tomb 

Of  hopes  that  lur'd  us  with  their  spell 
When  earth  was  to  our  charmed  eyes 
The  dream  of  early  paradise. 
Enough  !     I  loved,  and  could  not  quell 

The  flame  that  glowed  within  my  soul, 
Tho'  oft  I  strove  to  break  the  spell 

That  o'er  me  had  such  strange  control. 
And  oft  amid  the  war  of  life 

Where  fierce,  contending  passions  ruled, 
The  anxious  struggle  and  the  strife 

In  which  the  baffled  thought  is  schooled, 
I've  turned  me  from  ambition's  dream 

And  flatt'ring  hopes  of  worldly  power, 
To  linger  on  that  visioned  beam 

Of  happiest  light  to  Boyhood's  hour. 
I've  paused  to  worship  o'er  again 

The  earliest  idol  of  the  heart, 
And  when  from  busy  haunts  of  men 


IDEALINA.  17 

I've  wander'd  from  all  else  apart, 
Fve  knelt  at  that  dear,  hallowed  shrine 

Where  thou  dost  reign— my  soul's  ideal — • 
And  heedless  asked  thee  to  be  mine, 

As  though  of  earth  thou  could'st  be  real ! 
I  knew  'twas  folly,  madness  all, 

But  slave  to  thy  mysterious  power, 
How  vainly  would  I  flee  the  thrall, 

Or  make  less  consecrate  the  hour. 

'Tis  strange,  that  boyhood's  sunny  dream  ! 

'Tis  strange,  the  heart's  first  vow  was  given 
To  one  who  lived  in  fancy's  gleam 

To  type  the  beauteous  forms  of  Heaven. 
But  stranger  still,  that  when  long  years 

Of  hapless  anguish  and  of  love, 
Had  left  the  soul  all  drowned  in  tears, 

And  grief  did  my  devotion  prove, 
The  reign  of  joy  should  come  at  last 

And  transport  fill  the  soul's  glad  streams— 
For  I  have  met,  what  in  the  past 

Was  but  the  angel  of  my  dreams  ! 
That  sweet  embodiment  of  light 

I've  gazed  upon  with  earthly  vision, 
And  then  did  flee  the  spirit's  night 

Which  clouded  hopes  of  birth  Elysian, 
And  leaped  the  heart  exultingly 

At  thought — ANGELICA — of  thee  ! 


*2 


18  IDEALINA, 


PART    11. 


Can  earthly  form  or  shape  compare 

With  that  which  fancy  bodies  forth  ? 
Can  aught  e'er  be  as  wondrous  fair 

As  that  being  of  ideal  worth, 
Which  lives  and  glows,  and  brightly  beams 
The  soul  of  our  entrancing  dreams  ? 
The  Naiad  of  the  sunny  stream, 
The  Nymph  of  Grecian  minstrel's  dream, 
The  Dryad  of  the  grassy  dell, 
And  Peri  of  the  pearly  shell, 
Are  creatures  of  poetic  mind, 

And  emblem  all  that's  pure  and  fair  ; 
But  can  their  beauties  all  combined, 

Or  fabled  spirits  of  the  air, 
In  life  a  mortal  being  find 
Like  them  so  lovely  and  refined  ? 
Oh,-  brighter  far  than  love's  first  dream 

The  image  that  my  soul  has  glassed. 


IDEALINA.  19 

Brighter  than  fancy's  sunlit  gleam 

The  vision  to  my  heart  is  clasped ; 
Ay,  fairer  is  my  earthly  love 

Than  aught  was  e'er  to  fancy's  seeming^ 
And  lovelier  than  the  thoughts  that  wove 

The  web  of  boyhood's  early  dreaming  ! 
I  saw  and  looked  my  soul's  amaze, 

That  earth  should  boast  an  angel  form, 
And  worship  drank  in  every  gaze, 

Thus  locked  in  spell  of  beauty's  charm, 
And  felt  that  fortune  then  had  given 
The  heart  its  sweetest  glimpse  of  Heaven  ! 

ANGELICA  !     'Twas  joy  to  see 

Thee,  radiant  as  the  sun  of  hope, 

That  with  its  magic  beams  awoke 
The  Memnon  of  Love's  minstrelsy  ! 
'Twas  joy  to  feel  that  thou  wert  near. 

And  drink  in  rapture  from  the  vision, 
To  own  how  sweet  the  Heaven  here 

To  which  the  smile  gave  joy  Elysian, 
And  be  in  heart  and  soul  sincere, 
Thy  fondest,  truest  worshipper. 

A  strange,  mysterious  power  there  is 

In  e'en  the  accents  of  thy  name, 
A  spell  of  dearer  happiness 

Than  visions  of  serenest  fame  ; 
For  who  can  love,  and  yet  not  own, 

As  oft  is  heard  the  loved  one's  name, 


20  IDEALINA. 

A  thrill  as  sweet  as  music  tone 

That  o'er  the  heart  in  childhood  came  ? 
The  sound  at  once  enchains  the  thought 

As  by  a  moonbeam's  softened  spell, 
And  with  an  influence  'tis  fraught 

Resistless  as  the  ocean's  swell, 
In  binding  with  a  stronger  chain 
The  heart  that  beats  its  bars  in  vain ! 
Oh,  I  adore  each  word  that  makes 

Of  thy  loved  name  a  treasured  part, 
And  every  syllable  creates 

An  added  bliss  within  the  heart, 
And  when  I've  heard  them  all  complete 

And  lisp'd  e'en  by  a  stranger  tongue, 
Love's  fond  emotions  throng'd  to  greet 
The  sound  so  softly,  strangely  sweet, 

Whereon  the  heart  in  transport  hnng. 

To  know  this  being  is  to  love ; 

'Twere  vain  to  flee  from  love's  control, 
For  every  pulse  would  chime,  and  move 

To  homage  the  adoring  soul. 
Though  shapes  of  angel  beauty  flowed 

Upon  the  thought  'mid  sunny  dreams, 
And  though  the  faultless  canvass  glowed 

'Neath  fancy's  brush  of  golden  beams, 
'Twere  vain  the  picture  there  to  see 

Of  her — my  life's  idolatry — 
For  fancy  is  a  finite  power, 

A  power  that  is  not  limitless, 


IDBALINA.  21 


While  her's  is  nature's  richest  dower — 
Perfections  infinite,  to  bless — 
And  heaven  created  loveliness. 


II. 


I  ever  worship  at  the  shrine 

Of  all  that's  beautiful  and  fair, 
And  o'er  the  fond  heart's  sadden'd  clime 

The  joy-beam  breaks  and  lingers  there, 
To  show  how  pure  and  deep  may  be 
For  such,  the  soul's  idolatry. 
The  mountain  summit  bathed  in  clouds  ; 

The  cliff  that  braves  the  wintry  storm, 
And  in  its  rugged  fastness  shrouds 

The  Genii  of  romantic  charm ; 
The  vale  that  blooms  in  vernal  pride  ; 

The  landscape  blending  every  hue, 
And  fraught  with  fragrant  charms  beside 

T'  attract  the  homage  that  is  due  ; 
The  foliage  of  summer  trees  ; 

The  unclosed  bud,  the  spreading  leaf ; 
The  streamlet's  varied  harmonies  ; 

'  The  flower  bursting  from  its  sheath  ; 
The  fountain  bubbling  up  in  song  ; 

The  music  of  earth's  welling  springs  ; 
The  murm'ring  sounds  that  glide  along 

O'er  orange  glades  ;  the  bird  that  sings  ; 
The  stars  that  gem  the  vaulted  sky — 


22  IDEALINA. 

Its  rich  adornment  and  its  pride  ; 
Its  walls  of  vast  immensity, 

And  all  Earth's  glorious  pomp  beside, 
Have  e'er  for  me  a  charm  as  sweet 

As  loving  tones  affection  hath, 
And  as  enduring  and  complete 

As  woman's  pure,  unsullied  faith. 

I  gaze  upon  the  hallowed  stars 

Whose  loveliness  enrapts  the  eye — 
The  tumult  of  the  spirit's  wars 

Is  calmed  as  by  a  lullaby ; 
The  tide  of  eloquence  they  pour 

Of  Music,  Poetry  and  Love, 
Fall  on  the  heart  like  silver  shower 

Of  moonbeams  from  their  source  above. 
And  charmed  streams  in  sweetness  roll 

O'er  secret  haunts  of  raptured  soul. 
I  gaze  upon  the  blushing  flower 

That  sparkles  in  the  dew-drop's  blaze 
In  glow  of  morning's  early  hour, 

That  brightens  all  things'  neath  its  rays  ; 
Then  too,  a  silent  pleasure  steals 

In  magic  softness  o'er  the  heart, 
Whose  kindly  influence  e'er  reveals 

The  presence  of  refining  art. 
I've  seen  the  rainbow,  as  its  form 

Was  mirrored  in  the  water-drop, 
Sparkle  most  beauteously  and  bright 
Beneath  the  sunbeams  glowing  light, 


IDEALINA.  23 

And  harp-strains  of  emotions  warm 

Within  the  heart  were  then  awoke — > 
It  seemed  that  some  mysterious  breath 

Had  touched  its  lyre's  sweetest  strings, 
And  answered  with  its  music  wealth, 

Awaking  all  the  soul's  deep  springs, 
And  was  much  sweeter,  far,  than  tones 

With  which  the  zephyr's  breath  abounds, 
As  'long  the  hush  of  eve  it  comes 

To  waken  soft  JBolian  sounds. 

But  what's  the  livery  ef  Heaven, 

Its  clouds  that  look  so  silv'ry  fair, 
The  iris  tints  of  summer  even 

That  blend  in  mystic  beauty  rare  : 
And  what  the  myriad  forms  of  earth 

That  win  upon  the  outward  sense, 
To  that  deep  charm  that  has  its  birth 

Within  the  shrine  of  innocence— 
That  spell  of  loveliness  that  binds 

Us  by  a  strength  to  earth  uncommon, 
And  in  each  beauteous  object  finds 

Reflected  light  from  peerless  woman. 
She  is  the  centre  of  our  dreams, 

The  sun  to  which  turns  every  thought, 

And  makes  all  things  with  music  fraught, 

Like  Memnon's  statue  that  of  old 

When  felt  the  rising  sun  of  gold 
Sang  out  to  its  impinging  beams. 


24  IDEALIST  A. 

III. 

* 

The  idol  that  I  loved  was  not 

What  I  could  deem  of  mortal  birth  ; 

So  pure,  without  a  stain  or  spot, 

She  seemed  of  Heaven  and  not  of  Earth. 

There  are  faces  we  sometimes  meet 
So  witching  with  expression  sweet, 
That  human  power  would  essay 
In  vain  their  beauties  to  portray — 
Would  e'en  the  glittering  canvass  shame. 
That  vaunted  mockingly  a  claim 
To  image  them  in  truthful  light 
Upon  its  sheen  of  purest  white, 
E'en  tho'  with  magic  pencil  drawn 
That  paints  the  rosy  tints  of  dawn, 
Or  brush  to  fancy  only  known 
Dipp'd  in  sunbeams  of  breathless  noon. 
They  do  not  come  upon  the  heart 
As  with  the  thunder's  sudden  start, 
Nor  like  a  torrent  madly  roll 
Into  the  channels  of  the  soul ; 
But  like  affection's  fondest  dream, 
Their  angel-loveliness  doth  seem 
To  sink  with  softness  in  the  heart, 
Becoming  through  all  time  a  part 
Of  visions  that  will  ever  be 
The  haunting  spells  of  memory. 


IDEALINA.'  25 

We  gaze,  and  feasts  the  eye  the  while 
On  beauty's  soft,  endearing  smile, 
And  feel  the  answ'ring  look  enthrall 
The  mind  and  heart  and  senses  all 
As  with  a  chain  of  charms  as  bright 
As  visions  of  a  summer  night. 
The  kindly  offered  hand  we  press 
And  feel  a  thrill  of  happiness  ; 
A  stream  of  joy  intensely  glide 
Into  the  soul's  impassioned  tide, 
Whose  every  bound'ry  overflows, 

And  channels  deepen  where  it  goes.. 

The  angel  type  enchants  the  eyes 

And  on  the  heart  its  image  lies, 

And  as  we  gaze  the  bosom  warms 

To  clasp  its  luxury  of  charms. 

We  feel  the  mystic  presence  near, 

We  own  it  to  the  bosom  dear, 

The  Heaven  in  her  look  we  see 

And  orbs  that  kindle  lovingly  ; 

But  oh,  to  image  them  that  all 

May  see  what  holds  the  heart  in  thrall, 

Or  to  another's  eye  portray 

The  heart's  enchanting  light  of  day — 

How  deep's  the  poverty  of  thought 

To  soar  on  eagle  pinions  taught, 

And  poor  the  minstrelsy  of  words 

Tho'  flung  from  Music's  sweetest  chords. 
3 


26  IDEALINA. 

As  difficult  'twould  be  to  limn 

The  likeness  of  the  smiling  queen, 

As  e'er  with  languaged  skill  essay 

My  love's  attractions  to. portray. 

The  sun  of  eighteen  summers  shone 

Upon  her  beauty's  peerless  throne, 

And  seasons  rare  they  must  have  been 

Of  joy,  and  rapture's  sweetest  dream, 

For  on  her  brow  no  shadow  came 

To  dim  the  glory  of  its  reign. 

Her  features  were  as  softly  sweet 

As  day-beam  ever  joyed  to  greet, 

Or  any  moulded  by  the  clime 

Where  love  is  lisp'd  in  minstrel's  rhyme, 

Blending  the  hue  of  fairest  rose 

With  loveliest  tint  the  lily  knows, 

And  fairer  far  than  sweetest  bloom 

That  smiles  beneath  the  summer  noon, 

Or  aught  that  e'er  propitious  grew 

'Neath  gales  perfumed  with  morning  dew — 

Its  fragrant  incense  born  to  rise 

In  homage  to  its  genial  skies. 

Her  eye  was  dark  as  noon  of  night, 

When  moon  and  stars  were  out  of  sight, 

Whose  lash  but  part  concealed  below 

A  lid  as  white  as  driven  snow, 

And  from  those  orbs  each  wand'ring  beam 

Brought  memory  of  some  sunny  dream. 

O'er  her  fair  brow  the  raven  tress 

Hung  down  in  braided  loveliness, 


IDEALINA.  27 

The  bloom  of  youth's  Idalian  rose 

Upon  her  cheek  found  sweet  repose, 

And  trembling  blushes  nestling  there. 

Showed  her  sinless  as  angels  are. 

The  rich  lip,  ruddy,  fresh  and  fair, 

And  lapped  in  odors  of  the  air, 

With  tempting  beauty,  sweet  and  warm,* 

Invited  to  its  glowing  charm, 

And  in  each  dimple's  fairy  cell 

The  monarch  of  the  smile  did  dwell, 

And  hallow  its  delicious  reign 

By  wreathing  weird  enchantment's  chain. 

So  small  and  delicate  the  waist, 

A  zone  of  fairy  might  have  clasped  ; 

The  hand  was  in  concealment  thrown 

Within  the  pressure  of  your  own  ; — 

She  moves  !  the  air  that  breathless  roves, 

Now  sighs  in  homage  as  she  moves ! 

She  smiles  !  the  pulses  lightly  bound 

As  to  the  strains  of  Syrian  sound ! 

She  speaks  !  'tis  like  the  music  sweet 

That  comes  in  dreams  the  heart  to  greet — 

A  melody  of  richer  tone 

Than  aught  to  music  ever  known, 

Or  breathings  of  divinest  love 

That  can  the  soul  with  rapture  move, 

And  sweet  as  angel  harmonies 

From  blissful  bowers  of  paradise. 

There's  in  her  look  and  mien 

A  majesty  that's  seldom  seen, 


28  IDEALINA. 

And  in  her  eyes1  a  power  doth  lie 
To  make  e'en  vice  to  virtue  fly  ; 
The  rashly  erring  heart  would  win* 
From  path  of  folly  and  of  sin, 
For  wickedness  could  never  live 
Within  the  light  those  planets  give, 
»0r  mask  its  hideousness  the  while 
Within  the  radiance  of  her  smile, 
But  turn  and  rend  itself  in  shame 
That  e'er  it  bore  a  sullied  name. 
All  these,  the  human  beauties  were 
That  claimed  me  an  idolater, 
The  clust'ring  charms  around  her  flung 
On  which  Hope's  freshest  garlands  hung, 
And  made  the  more  enchanting  real 
Than  fancy's  fondest,  loved  ideal ! 

But  better  far  than  angel  face, 
Luxuriant  form  and  winning  grace, 
Than  deep  dark  eye  and  conqu'ring  smile, 
And  lips  reposing  love  the  while, 
And  dimpling  blushes  that  betray 
Emotions  in  the  heart  at  play, 
And  all  the  beauties  that  invite 
The  sense,  and  charm  th'  enraptured  sight, 
Was  that  deep  glow  that  brightly  shone 
Where  mind  has  its  imperial  throne, 
To  which  the  heart  owned  sweet  control 
As  homage  to  the  hallowing  soul. 


iDEALINA.  29 

Her  thoughts  that  were  with  love  refined, 

Breathed  tenderness  to  all  mankind, 

And  in  the  heart  a  fountain  lay 

By  kindness  wrought  to  beaded  spray, 

Which  showed  its  silver  tide  to  be 

The  flow  of  purest  sympathy. 

And  though  more  lovely  than  the  lymph 

Of  glassy  stream  or  fountain  nymph, 

Yet  mildly  on  her  peerless  brow 

The  sunbeam  fell  with  modest  glow, 

And  in  her  smile  the  want  of  art 

Portrayed  the  innocence  of  heart. 

Ay,  modest  as  the  fading  beam 

The  moon  sheds  o'er  the  laughing  stream, 

And  guileless  as  the  sportive  fay 

That  revels  in  the  starry  ray, 

A  soft  enchantment  'round  her  threw 

Hope's  blossoms  moist  with  Eden  dew, 

And  spell  of  witchery  too  was  given 

To  charm  the  thoughts  with  love  and  Heaven, 

Oh,  in  her  presence  one  could  feel 
That  Eden  did  its  sun  reveal, 
And  as  you  walked  with  her  alone 
Beneath  the  radiance  of  the  moon, 
And  in  the  loved  and  quiet  light 
Of  stars  that  gem  the  azure  night, 
There  seemed  a  sweet,  faint  music  near 
Of  beams  from  every  starry  sphere,, 
*3 


30  IDEALINA. 

Like  whispers  of  -ZEolian  strings 
When  fanned  by  seraphs'  golden  wings, 
Amid  the  bowers  that  bloom  above 
And  singing  of  an  angel's  love  ! 


IDEALINA.  31 


UNIVERSITY 


or 


PART   III, 


1. 


WHAT  is  that  weird,  controlless  feeling 

Which  gives  new  impulse  to  the  soul — 
That  hope  of  better  life  revealing, 

The  heart  aspiring  makes  its  goal  ? 
What  power  is  that  which  wakes  desires 

That  haunt  the  craving,  restless  spirit. 
And  vain  as  oft,  yet  still  aspires 

For  that,  ne'er  fated  to  inherit  ? 
'Tis  love — the  ready  heart  responds — 

But  what  is  this  controlling  love, 
Of  which  the  dreaming  thought  abounds, 

And  makes  each  pulse  to  music  move  ? 

In  lore  that  reaches  from  the  past, 
The  dreamy  lore  of  years  long  gone, 

'Tis  taught  that  man  by  fate  was  cast 
From  glories  of  a  brighter  home  ; 


32  IDEALINA, 

That  in  another  state  he  shared 

A  bliss  to  lowly  earth  ne'er  giv'n, 
And  all  his  present  joys  are  marred  . 

By  dreamings  of  a  former  Heav'n  , 
That  thought,  hope,  fancy  feeling,  all, 

The  powers  that  we  now  possess, 
Are  what  but  to  the  soul  recall 

The  memories  of  an  Eden  bliss  ; 
And  that  each  hoarded  truth  we  learn, 

Revives  but  some  forgotten  thought, 
And  all  the  good  for  which  we  yearn 

Is  from  that  bright  existence  caught. 

Is  it  not  so  ?     Do  we  not  feel 

That  in  this  fond  Athenian  dream, 
There  are  emotions  which  reveal 

A  sparkle  of  truth's  glimm'ring  beam  ? 
Can  aught  in  life  awaken  e'er 

Those  longings  vain  and  vague  desires 
That  ever  haunt  us  strangely  here, 

When  love  our  ardent  dreams  inspires  ? 
The  heart  that  owns  to  passion's  sway, 

And  in  the  light  of  fancy  lives, 
Finds  more  of  happiness  in  its  ray 

Than  aught  that  worldly  pleasure  gives 
'Tis  lighted  up  with  brighter  gleams 

Than  charm  the  lowly  sphere  of  earth, 
And  filled  with  more  enchanting  dreams 

Than  such  dull  life  has  given  birth. 


IDEALINA. 

Then  who  can  say  that  love  is  not 

The  brightest  mem'ry  we  retain 
Of  glories  of  that  brighter  lot 

Which  dimly  it  revives  again  ? 
Though  fond  ambition  may  aspire 

To  reach  the  loftiest  goal  of  mind, 
And  'waken  too  the  vague  desire, 

And  longing  that  on  earth  we  find, 
'Tis  but  a  fainter  thought  revived 

Within  the  shade  of  passion's  fane, 
Where  all  that  may  be  has  survived 

Of  memory  of  our  blissful  reign. 
The  heart  that  loves,  and  truly  loves, 

Brings  brighter  visions  to  the  sight, 
And  giving  all  things  beauty,  moves 

The  soul  to  homage  and  delight, 
And  owns  within  a  newer  birth 

Of  feelings  that  will  not  decay, 
A  something  that  is  not  of  earth, 

Nor  perishable  with  its  clay, 
A  pining  for  a  brighter  sphere 
Of  which  it  has  the  memory  here, 

The  restless  wish  and  wasting  sigh 

To  still  enjoy  its  native  sky. 


II. 

The  fair  ANGELICA,  I  loved 
With  that  intensity  of  soul, 


34  IDEALINA, 

Which  to  all  other  passion  proved 

The  pure  and  fond  heart's  only  goal. 
She  was  to  me  a  mystic  light 

Which  wizzard  fancy  had  created, 
To  shine  upon  the  deepened  night 

Of  passion  to  the  heart  prefated  ; 
And  oh,  I  worshipped  it  as  one 

Would  e'er  adore  the  moon-borne  tide 
Of  silvery  beams  that  brighter  shone 

As  for  the  loved  one  by  the  side, 
When  with  its  stream  the  words  of  love 

Mingled  in  one  harmonious  flow. 
And  all  the  beaming  worlds  above 

Seemed  listening  to  its  music  low  ; 
Or  as  the  lone  heart's  evening  star 

That  sheds  its  cheering  light  within, 
And  hushing  feelings  that  would  mar 

The  spirit's  calm  repose,  or  win 
The  gloss  from  sweetest  memories, 

Which  are  like  sunbeams  brightly  cast 
Upon  the  stream  of  thought  that  lies 

In  lustre  of  the  visioned  past. 

I  gazed,  and  o'er  the  heart,  the  rush 
Of  thoughts  like  golden  fancies  came, 

And  idol-memories  would  gush 
Within  the  soul,  a  summer  stream 

That  flowed  with  music  in  each  wave, 
Like  rivulet  o'er  sounding  shells, 


IBEALINA.  35 

As  sweet  as  visions  that  e'er  gave 

To  youth  and  hope  their  garland-spells. 
Fond  love  !     Thou  art  the  young  heart's  dream, 

Its  solace  in  a  world  of  care, 
Its  hope  and  bliss,  its  sunny  gleam 

That  makes  all  things  beauteous  and  fair  ! 
Beneath  its  spell  I've  wandered  forth 

Amid  the  summer's  laureled  fields, 
And  found  a  more  enchanting  worth 

In  all  the  wealth  that  nature  yields  ; 
The  petals  of  the  blooming  flower 

Did  seem  to  wear  a  richer  sheen ; 
The  landscape  slept  beneath  a  shower 

Of  beams  that  lit  a  brighter  scene  ; 
The  woods  with  all  their  foliaged  wealth 

Gave  forth  a  thousand  sunnier  dyes  ; 
The  air  that  roved  as  'twere  by  stealth 

Sighed  out  in  sweetest  harmonies  ; 
And  beauty  reigned  on  all  around 

Triumphant  in  its  proud  display, 
And  caused  the  lightened  heart  to  bound 

'Neath  its  and  love's  delicious  sway. 
The  silver  streamlet  leaped  along 

As  gleesome  as  a  fairy's  revel, 
And  birds  poured  forth  their  tide  of  song 

That  o'er  the  spirit's  realm  would  travel. 
And  leave  in  each  successive  flow 

A  rapture  and  a  memory 
The  heart  of  love  can  only  know, 

And  feelings  that  can  never  die. 


36  IDEALINA. 

All  these  did  minister  to  love, 

Supplying  it  with  angel-food, 
The  thoughts — dim-visioned  from  above — 

And  pinings  for  a  heavenly  good. 
The  heart  o'ergushing  with  its  tide 

Of  rich  affection,  spread  o'er  earth 
An  Eden  splendor,  and  the  pride 

Of  glories  free  from  Autumn  dearth, 
And  thus,  'twas  happiness  to  live 

Amid  a  paradise  of  bloom, 
And  feel  all  things  in  bounty  give 

A  re"fuge  from  the  waste  of  gloom. 

And  well  it  is  for  life's  young  heart 
That  love  is  not  forbidden  there, 
For  sweetest  joys  it  can  impart 

Amid  a  world  of  gloom  and  care. 
And  well,  that  fond  affection's  stream 
Its  fleshly  bounds  should  overflow, 
And  give  the  magic  of  a  dream 
To  life  amid  its  waste  of  woe. 
For  love  within  the  heart  confined 

Will  stagnate  in  its  fettered  sphere, 
Like  streams  which  circling  mountains  bind, 

Though  full,  all  motionless  appear  ; 
But  when  it  finds  a  kindred  heart, 

And  breaks  the  bounds  that  pent  its  flow, 
It  bears  rich  treasures  that  impart 

A  joy  'tis  happiness  to  know. 
Oh  thus,  did  seek  my  soul's  deep  tide 


IDBALINA.  37 

The  channel  of  my  idol's  thought, 
And  gushing  in  its  wealth  of  pride 

Bore  music  to  the  shrine  it  sought. 
On  her,  the  radiant  earthly  type 

Of  early  fancy's  fond  revealings, 
I  threw  my  hope  with  passion  ripe, 

And  all  affection's  noblest  feelings — 
And  recked  not  of  the  world's  vain  glow 
In  dreainings  of  a  Heaven  below. 


in. 


I  woo'd  the  loved  !  the  beautiful'! 

I  gazed  upon  her  peerless  brow 
With  heart  of  love  and  hope,  as  full 

As  is  the  soul  of  mem'ries  now. 
I  looked  into  her  deep  dark  eyes 

That  shed  within  the  heart  a  light 
Like  twilight  star's  o'er  paradise, 

When  all  with  golden  glow  is  bright, 
And  poured  the  hoarded  treasures  forth 

That  love  had  garnered  in  its  store — 
The  sum  of  rich  affection's  worth 

That  longed  with  miser  wish  for  more — • 
The  thoughts  that  wildly,  sweetly  gush 

From  pent  up  fountains  of  the  heart, 
Like  sunny  streamlet  a  as  they  rush 

From  hidden  spr-h. ,.  •    vith  sudden  start — 
4 


88  IDEALINA. 

The  solemn  feelings  that  belong 

To  the  fond  soul  that  passion  moves, 
And  all  the  dreams  that  ever  throng 

Upon  the  heart  of  one  who  loves — 
Like  softened  sounds  of  twilight  wave, 

Or  dewy  foliage  whispering  low, 
Her  voice  came  o'er  the  heart  and  gave 

A  thrill  of  happiness  to  its  flow, 
And  smiles  passed  o'er  the  sunlit  soul 

Like  zephyrs  soft  o'er  blooming  flowers, 
For  passion  now  had  won  its  goal, 

And  linked  in  one  the  hearts  of  ours. 

We  loved!     Oh,  all  that  Poets  feign 

To  know  of  Heav'n  was  in  my  heart, 
And  then  did  Music's  spirit  reign 

Exulting  in  its  blissful  art. 
There  is  no  rapture  known  to  earth, 

No  ecstacy  that  life  can  coin, 
No  happiness  that  has  its  birth 

In  which  the  human  heart  may  join, 
Like  that  the  ardent  lover  feels 

When  first  he  learns  the  magic  truth, 
That  love  of  kindred  heart  reveals 

The  wish  attained  that  haunted  youth. 
To  worship  with  the  heart's  devotion 

An  idol  Passion  has  created, 
To  lavish  all  the  deep  emotion 

With  which  the  soul  may  ne'er  be  sated- 


IDEALINA.  39 

To  bow  before  the  hallowed  shrine 

Of  one  who  did  an  angel  seem, 
Too  pure  and  fair  to  link  with  time 

The  blissful  hope  of  wedlock's  dream, 
And  know  thy  yearning's  not  in  vain — 

Brings  paradise  within  the  soul. 
And  throws  o'er  passion's  earthly  stain 

The  light  its  garden  blooms  control. 

We  loved  !  and  love  became  the  food 

Of  every  thought,  the  only  dream 
That  fraught  link'd  life  with  seeming  good, 

Or  gave  to  earth  a  pleasure-gleam — 
And  all  the  yearnings  that  I  knew — 

The  meanings  of  a  severed  heart — 
Were  hushed  as  it  became  anew 

Of  its  original  a  part. 
And  then  all  artless  grew  our  love 

Our  eyes  beamed  confidence  on  each  ; 
And  hearts  in  bliss  together  wove 

Held  converse  free  from  passion's  reach, 
And  knew  nor  jealousy,  nor  fear, 

But  felt  the  peace  of  faithful  hearts, 
And  high-born  feelings  that  appear 

Like  music  of  seraphic  harps, 
The  earth  and  air,  and  sea  and  sky, 

And  all  the  worlds  that  beamed  above, 
Seemed  rich  with  sweetest  melody, 

And  typed  the  holiness  of  love  ; 


40  IDEALINA. 

And  from  them  all  were  gathered  words 

And  im'ges  of  affection's  truth, 
And  thoughts,  that  came  like  summer  birds, 

From  mem7ry- haunted  realms  of  youth. 
And  even  now,  'though  time  has  flown 

Like  meteor  'long  the  track  of  night, 
And  feelings  have  more  earthly  grown, 

Since  all  is  wrecked  that  gave  delight, 
And  'mid  the  world  I've  vainly  sought 

A  solace  for  my  spirit's  tears, 
And  gone  the  hues  my  fancy  caught 

With  which  to  paint  the  future  years-— 
Yet  Mem'ry  disentombs  the  past, 

And  from  the  sepulchre  of  dreams 
And  fancies  that  o'er  life  were  cast 

'Mid  lustre  of  Hope's  sunny  gleams, 
A  low,  faint  voice  comes  stealing  o'er 

The  heart,  like  melodies  of  youth, 
When  earth  and  sun  and  planets  wore 

The  Heavenly  sheen  of  love  and  truth. 


IV. 


We  often  met !  but  not  amid 

The  gaze  of  such  as  could  not  know 

How  holy  the  affection  hid 

Within  the  heart's  warm  current  flow  I 

We  could  not  brook  that  other  eyes 
Should  pry  into  the  soul's  recess, 


IDEALINA.  41 

And  penetrate  the  treasured  guise  .   : 

That  masked  each  ardent,  loving  breast. 
For  love  is  timid,  and  would  riot 

Be  subject  for  the  idler's  jeer, 
Or  have  thus  marred  the  peaceful  lot 

That  Hope  did  to  itself  endear, 
But  shrinks  with  modest  awe  from  rude 

Surmises,  yet  more  rudely  given, 
And  seeks  its  own  sweet  solitude, 

And  blisses  of  its  lonely  heaven. 
We  met  and  drew  inspiring  breath 

From  every  breeze  that  floated  by, 
And  drank  the  summer's  hoarded  wealth 

Of  sweets  from  flowers  blooming  nigh. 
And  deep  within  the  soul  of  each, 

Fond  thoughts  like  stillest  waters  lay, 
And  from  the  eye  was  all  the  speech 

That  oft  affection  would  essay  ; 
For  in  the  heart  of  love,  the  wave 

Doth  sometimes  make  its  silent  flow, 
And  'though  its  tide  is  oft  the  grave 

In  which  the  art  of  words  lies  low, 
Yet  thought  doth  take  its  quiet  way 

Reflected  in  the  placid  stream, 
And  all  the  hush'd  emotions  lay 

In  lustre  of  affection's  beam. 
We've  strolled  beside  the  silver  lake 

When  crimson  skies  have  fled  away, 
And  evening  zephyr's  softly  wake 

The  blooms  that  'neath  the  moonlight  lay, 
4* 


42  IDEALINA, 

And  standing  far  above  its  wave, 

With  warm  emotions  in  the  soul, 
Have  gazed  as  on  a  glass  that  gave 

The  likeness  of  the  worlds  that  roll 
In  beauty  and  in  pride  above, 

While  we,  midway,  did  seem  to  stand 
In  sphere,  like  magic  fairy  land, 

That  fancy  formed  alone  for  love. 
And  there  we've  listened  to  the  song 

Of  flowers,  and  night  bird's  roundelay, 
And  star-borne  tide  of  beams  that  throng 

The  heart,  and  to  its  music  sway 
Would  yield  our  spirits,  as  to  sounds 

That  floated  far  from  Eden  bowers, 
Each  note  of  which  with  bliss  abounds 

To  halcyon  the  fleeting  hours. 
Those  peerless  hours  !     What  joy  they  brought ! 

They  came  and  passed  so  softly  by, 
That  not  a  foot-print  on  the  thought 

Betrayed  the  sign  that  they  were  nigh  ! 
The  Hours  are  Deities  that  time 

Has  given  to  the  quiet  spirit, 
When  life  not  yet  has  soiled  the  shrine 

Of  joys,  that  youth  and  hope  inherit ; 
And  oh,  when  all  is  calm  within, 

And  sleeps  the  heart  in  love's  repose, 
We  feel  their  sound  of  music  win 

A  thrilling  rapture  as  it  flows, 
And  thoughts  come  forth  from  spirit-bowers. 

In  homage  to  their  idol  Hours  ! 


IDEALINA.  48 


Thus  time  passed  on,  but  could  not  dim 

The  fervor  of  that  flame  which  glowed 
In  mutual  bosoms,  and  the  hymn 

Of  voiced  affection  sweetly  flowed 
Upon  the  hush  of  twilight  hour, 

Like  soft  airs  borne  on  music  wings, 
To  breathe  upon  the  slumb'ring  flower, 

And  waken  love's  imaginings. 
For  love  had  giv'n  me  higher  aims, 

A  thirsting  breast  and  vast  desire, 
A  spirit  mounting  up  in  dreams 

Which  bade  the  slumb'ring  soul  aspire. 
I  felt  a  more  ennobled  heart, 

An  impulse  that  exalts,  refines, 
High  thoughts  and  instincts  that  impart 

Sweet  incense  to  affection's  shrines. 
Within  the  heart  a  thousand  feelings 

Came  welling  from  the  fount  of  love, 
And  visions,  that  did  seem  revealings, 

Though  dim  and  vague,  were  from  above  ; 
And  earth  did  take  the  sunny  hue 

Of  glory,  and  ambition's  dream, 
And  fame  its  lavish  sun-light  threw 

O'er  hopes  were  nursed  in  fairy  realm. 
I  gazed  upon  some  distant  goal, 

From  which  the  heart,  unloving,  shrinks, 


44  IDEALINA. 

But  loving,  rouses  all  the  soul 

That  from  the  spring  of  passion  drinks, 

And  then  did  seek  in  pride  to  win 
A  name  that  on  the  world  might  shine 

With  light  of  goodness — free  from  sin — 
Fit  offering  for  my  idol's  shrine  ! 

As  fast  as  time  sped  on,  our  love 

Became  jet  brighter  and  more  strong, 
And  all  of  nature  seem'd  to  move 

In  concert  with  affection's  song. 
Our  hearts  were  as  two  gentle  streams 

That  mingled  all  their  wealth  in  one — 
Our  soul's  were  filled  with  kindred  dreams 

Awaked  from  life's  one  chord  alone  ; 
Our  fancies  formed  a  paradise 

O'er  which  the  purest  love  held  sway, 
And  Hope  amid  its  dews  would  rise 

To  welcome  each  approaching  day, 
And  through  the  night  bring  visions  sweet 

Of  birds  and  flowers,  and  songs  of  love, 
And  beauty  such  as  angels  meet 

In  bow'rs  of  Amaranth  above. 
Thus,  life  to  us  was  golden  bright, 

With  music  in  each  breath  of  air, 
And  from  the  future  peered  a  light 

To  show  the  Heav'n  love  pictured  there  ! 


IDEALINA.  45 


PART  IV. 


I. 


TIME  waned  !     Oh,  what  a  world  of  thought 

Lies  in  the  circle  of  those  words  ! 
How  much  of  bliss  or  woe  is  brought 

To  strike  upon  the  spirit's  chords, 
And  make  them  give  forth  music  tones 

Of  joy  and  hope  and  happiness, 
Or  answer  to  the  thrilling  moans 

Awakened  by  the  heart's  distress. 
The  stream  of  time  flows  on,  and  though 

No  ripple  crisps  its  peaceful  wave, 
Its  surface  all  unmoved  will  show 

The  wreck  of  hopes  it  early  gave — 
Of  joys  that  once  did  gaily  float 

Upon  its  bosom's  swelling  pride, 
And  feelings  that  affection  wrought, 

Now  borne  on  its  oblivious  tide. 


IDEALINA. 

Time  waned  !     A  few  short  months  had  flown 

That  glided  by  on  rapture's  wing, 
When  all  to  earth  of  heaven  was  known — 

The  happiness  that  time  could  bring — 
Perish'd  like  blooms  'neath  autumn  airs, 

And  all  to  manhood's  eye  was  gloom, 
And  life  grew  up  with  thronging  cares 

That  marred  the  beauty  of  its  bloom, 
For  o'er  the  heart  a  Samiel  came, 

That  withered  all  that  blossom'd  there, 
And  left  it  nothing  but  the  name — 

The  waste,  the  desert  of  despair  ! 

The  transient  bubble  of  the  wave 

I've  seen  in  magic  beauty  rise, 
And  then  its  mirroring  surface  gave 

The  imag'ry  of  the  morning  skies  ; 
It  seemed  a  world  of  life  and  light, 

Illumined  by  a  mimic  sun, 
Its  floating  clouds  looked  silv'ry  white, 

And  fair  it  was  to  gaze  upon, 
But  soon  a  breath  dissolved  the  spell, 

And  all  its  mimic  beauty  fled, 
The  tiny  sun  in  darkness  fell — 

A  world  of  magic  splendor  dead  ! 
And  thus  it  is  with  time  which  brings 

Fond  dreams  to  lure  the  trusting  soul, 
A  world  of  bright  imaginings 

Which  make  the  pure  heart's  highest  goal, 


IDEALINA. 

Then  bubble-like,  a  wave  of  air 

Dissolves  the  blissful  period's  charm, 
And  life  with  hope  no  longer  warm, 

Awakes  the  frenzy  of  despair. " 

It  may  be  there  are  those  who  live 

Within  the  sphere  of  fancied  bliss, 
Whose  very  sorrows  to  them  give 

The  joy  and  happiness  of  this  ; 
But  such  there  are  who  feel  desire, 

A  deep,  a  yearning  curse  within, 
Whose  every  thought  glows  with  a  fire 

Some  high  and  fancied  goal  to  win; 
Who  live  indeed  in  fancy's  realm 

And  clasp  in  every  cloud  a  vision, 
Whose  life  is  but  one  constant  dream, 

And  pinings  for  a  bliss  Elysian. 
They  yield  to  some  unbodied  thought 

The  worship  of  life's  holiest  time, 
And  every  feeling,  wish,  is  fraught 

With  homage  to  some  ideal  shrine, 
For  whose  divinity  they  yearn, 

And  waste  their  life  in  vain  desirings, 
For  seldom  earthly  shapes  may  turn 

To  what  called  forth  the  soul's  aspirings. 
But  if  the  bodied  form  is  found, 

Which  lived  in  fancy's  glowing  light — 
If  earth  should  chance  within  its  bound 

To  hold  the  spell  that  breaks  the  night 


48  IDEAL1NA. 

Of  pinings  vague  for  bliss  below, 

And  such  a  spirit  learns  to  love, 
To  feel  deep  passion's  burning  glow 

For  one  of  earth,  but  born  above — 
And  then  the  love  of  each  be  plighted — 

What  rapturous  bliss  is  there  ! 
But  if  affection's  hops  be  blighted, 

What  guage  can  measure  its  despair  ? 


ii. 


I  saw  and  loved  the  idol  sun 

O'er  fancy's  growing  realm  that  shone, 
I  bowed  before  the  worshipped  one, 

Was  loved,  and  was  by  fate  undone  ! 
Oh,  there  are  times  when  the  warm  heart 

Doth  love  to  travel  back,  and  live 
Amid  the  dreams  that  form  a  part 

Of  joys  its  Eden  memories  give  ; 
It  lingers  on  the  tide  of  years 

That  bore  rich  freight  unto  the  soul, 
Ere  life  had  changed  its  smiles  to  tears, 

Or  Hope  had  reached  affliction's  goal. 

ANGELICA  !     I  miss  Hiee  now  ! 
I  stroll  beside  the  glassy  stream, 

Where  zephyrs  fan  in /  aching  brow, 
And  all  of  happy  life  doth  seem 
The  faded  image  of  a  dream.   . 


IDEALINA.  49 

I  cast  around  my  longing  eyes, 

And  what  now  meets  the  anxious  view, 
Brings  mem'ry  of  the  paradise 

O'er  which  I  roved  \\ith  love  and  you. 
I  see  the  sinking  sun,  and  wave 

That  flows  in  murm'ring  sweetness  by> 
I  feel  its  balmy  breeze  that  gave 

Sweet  melody  when  thou  wert  nigh  ; 
I  hear  the  whisp'ring  stir  of  leaves, 

The  rills  that  from  their  fountains  gush,. 
And  song-birds  trill  'mid  woodbine  wreaths,. 

The  lays  that  waken  twilight's  hush — 
The  sounds  oft  heard  when  thou  wert  near, 

And  joys  sprang  up  like  summer  flowers — - 
They're  now  upon  my  cheerless  ear, 

Remembrancers  of  happier  hours  1 
I  feel  once  more  thy  arm  in  mine, ' 

In  all  the  confidence  of  love  ; 
Thy  eyes  in  gentleness  doth  shine 

Like  chasten'd  moonlight  from  above, 
And  as  my  spirit  drinks  the  gaze, 

The  heart  throbs  wildly  with  delight — 
The  rapture  of  love''s  halcyon  days, 

Throws  sunshine  o'er  the  soul's  deep  night. 
Thy  winning  voice  in  accents  low, 

Comes  floating  back  on  mem'ry's  stream ; 
The  deep,  warm  thoughts  will  come  and  go, 

That  guiled  me  'mid  love's  blissful  dream, 
But  when  I  turned  to  speak  to  thee — 

The  fond,  the  vain  illusion's  gone, 
5 


60  IDEALINA. 

Is  gone  the  spell  of  memory, 
And  with  despair  I'm  left  alone. 

The  silvery  morn  of  summer  breaks , 

And  birds  are  singing  in  the  grove, 
Sweet  warblers  that  the  dawn  awakes 

To  hymn  the  minstrelsy  of  love. 
The  sportive  swallow  from  his  height 

Twitters  his  merry  roundelay, 
And  plunging,  in  a  circling  flight 

Now  headlong -makes  his  downward  way, 
And  then  in  merry  mood  will  rise 

And  seek  by  fickle  turns  his  spire, 
And  warble  o'er  the  melodies 

That  trill  on  morning's  mystic  lyre. 
And  there  are  hearts  that  gleeful  spring 

To  meet  the  mantling  morn,  and  bask 
In  dewy  light  of  gladness  wing — 

Unused  to  wear  the  world's  cold  mask* — 
But  there  is  one  to  whom  the  morn, 

Nor  hope  nor  fond  rejoicing  brings, 
And  Heaven  seems  to  smile  in  scorn 

Upon  the  soul's  exhausted  spring?. 
One  heart,  that  sees  no  joy  on  earth, 

And  feels  the  skies  look  darkly  down, 
To  make  more  sad  the  spirit's  dearth, 

And  leave  it  bleeding  and  forlorn. 
The  very  air  that  fans  the  cheek 

And  gives  the  fevered  brow  relief, 


IDEALINA.  Oi. 

In  that,  a  bitterness  doth  speak, 

And  seem  a  mockery  of  grief; 
For  oh,  I've  borne  the  cureless  stain 

Of  woe,  that  e'er  the  heart  could  bear, 
And  all  the  soul  doth  writhe  in  pain 

Of  cureless  anguish  and  despair. 

I  miss  thee,  my  betrothed  !  my  own  ! 

Thou'st  ceased  to  linger  by  my  side 
At  evening's  hush  and  night's  deep  noon, 

Who  once  was  wont  to  be  my  guide  ! 
I  hear  thy  voice-harp  swell  no  more 

The  music  of  the  zephyr's  breath, 
And  fled  the  witching  smile  you  wore, 

When  love  was  lavish  of  its  wealth. 
But  thou  hast  not  been  false,  my  love  ! 

No  treach'rous  vow  thy  lips  have  passed — 
No  dark  deceit  could  ever  move 

Thy  heart  in  Eden  mouldings  cast ! 
But  thou  art  where  this  broken  heart 

In  death's  lone  quietude  should  rest, 
For  thy  sweet  words  and  gentle  art, 

Sleep  now  on  Heaven's  unchanging  breast. 


in. 


The  fair  ANGELICA  ! — she1  died  ! 
She  that  was  loved  and  beautiful, 


52  IDEALINA, 

That  was  my  soul,,  my  life,  my  pride — ' 

The  charm  my  bosom's  rage  could  lull ! 
She  died  like  music  o'er  the  flowers 

That  blushing  greet  the  early  spring, 
Or  meteor  'mid  the  morning  hours 

When  stars  are  brightly  glimmering  ! 
Oh,  she  that  was  so  fair  and  bright, 

Did  feel  the  trace  of  parting  life 
On  her  fair  cheek  and  brow  of  light — 

Alone  with  sweetest  sunshine  rife- — 
And  winds  did  breathe  in  hollow  sighs 

Their  mournful  tale  of  grief  and  woe, 
As  'round  her  feverish  couch,  the  cries 

Of  breaking  hearts,  uncheck'd  did  flow— 
The  requiem  of  my  love  and  hope— 

The  knell  of  bliss  and  raptures  fled — 
The  story  of  life's  bubble  broke, 

And  all  youth's  summer  visions  sped. 
And  then,  dark  shadows  thickly  stole 

Upon  the  sun-beam  of  my  fate, 
And  left  the  Eden  of  the  soul, 

All  blighted — withered — desolate. 
Dark  thoughts,  a  wild,  disordered  brood, 

Like  harpy  fiends  would  throng  the  heart, 
And  make  its  cherished  memories  food 

To  sate  their  vile,  vindictive  art. 
'Twas  death  and  agony  and  hell, 

The  torment  that  my  bosom  knew, 
When  love  wailed  thus  its  wild  farewell, 

And  Hope  expired  in  anguish  too. 


IDEALINA. 

I  never  thought  amid  life's  bloom 

When  Heav'n  was  floating  in  the  air, 
That  e'er  the  shadow  of  the  tomb 

Would  fall  on  hope  and  wake  despair. 
I  did  not  dream  as  oft  I  sipped 

At  rapture's  fount  of  blissful  tears, 
That  joy's  sweet  blossoms  would  be  nipped 

Around  its  banks  by  frost  of  years  ; 
Or  pleasure  mount  on  sorrow's  wings, 

.And  from  its  peaceful  home  depart, 
And  with  it  the  imaginings 

That  blessed  the  deeply  loving  heart. 
I  ne'er  did  think  that  air  and  earth 

Would  lose  their  beauty's  witching  spell, 
And  blooming  flowers  of  summer  birth 

Increase  my  bosom's  burning  hell, 
And  all  that  formed  my  early  bliss 

Should  only  bring  a  spell  of  woe, 
And  every  gleam  of  happiness 

But  hurry  grief's  unchanging  flow. 
But  fate  hath  hurl'd  its  poisoned  spear, 

The  hurt  and  rankling  spirit  falls, 
Now,  reckless  of  what  once  was  dear, 

And  memory  like  a  curse  appals. 
The  shade  of  darkness  now  is  thrown 

Upon  my  sad  and  cheerless  way, 
And  grief  hath  marked  me  for  its  own, 

Unblest  by  one  kind,  sunny  ray, 
And  all  my  soul's  deep  worship's  cast, 

A  wreck  upon  a  boundless  sea — 
*5 


54  IDEALINA. 

The  pure  affections  of  the  past 
Are  icicles  of  memory  ! 

Oh,  why  when  broke  life's  tender  chord 

And  flew  thy  spirit  unto  Heaven, 
Did  not  the  bosom  that  adored 

Thee,  feel  to  it  love's  respite  given  ? 
Why  ceased  not  then,  the  throbbing  veins 

That  swelled  the  filling  heart  with  woey 
And  why  is  left  to  me  the  pains 

Alone  of  anguish' d  love  below  ? 
Were  we,  ANGELICA,  riot  one  ! 

In  heart  and  trusting  love  the  same  ! 
Then  why,  oh  why  should'st  thou  be  gone, 

And  I — a  blighted  thing — remain  ? 
Our  hearts  were  linked,  our  souls  were  wed, 

Our  thoughts  and  feelings  all  united, 
Entwined  as  by  a  mystic  thread, 

And  every  fond  affection  plighted. 
My  dreams  in  thine  were  born  anew, 

Thy  nerves  did  vibrate  to  my  own, 
Our  eyes  unto  each  other  grew, 

And  lips  with  kindred  warmth  did  burn. 
Thou  wert  my  Life's  best,  purest  part, 

The  soul's  divinity  within, 
The  angel  of  my  trusting  heart 

To  guard  me  from  the  world's  dark  sin. 
But  now,  the  eye  that  shone  with  love 

And  kindled  high  its  mutual  flame, 


IDEALINA.  55 

Is  lustreless,  and  may  not  rove 

As  in  our  happier  days  the  same. 
Thy  lips  whose  gentle  words  did  start 

Within  the  soul  a  blissful  light, 
Are  cold  and  wan,  and  can  impart 

No  ray  to  cheer  the  heart's  deep  night, 
And  all  that  love  could  e'er  adore 

Now  sleeps,  to  wake  on  earth — no  more. 

Thou  wert  on  life's  dark  pilgrimage 

To  be  my  staff,  and  hope,  and  guide, 
The  joy  and  comfort  of  my  age, 

As  of  my  youth  the  bosom's  pride. 
And  when  the  world  looked  darkly  on 

The  travail  of  th'  aspiring  soul, 
When  fortune  gazed  but  with  a  frown 

And  fate  denied  the  heart  its  goal, 
Thou  wast  to  be  my  hope's  reward, 

The  world  whose  smiles  would  not  forsake, 
The  bosom's  best  and  lonely  hoard 

Of  wealth  misfortune  could  not  take. 
And  I,  whatever  fate  befel, 

Would  shield  thee  from  its  deadly  aim ; 
My  breast  alone,  should  ward  the  spell 

Of  wrath  that  o'er  life's  sunshine  came. 
And  thus  secure  in  mutual  love 

O'er  which  beams  e'er  a  summer  sky 
Each  heart  'mid  fairy  bowers  would  rove, 

And  chilling  airs  of  earth  defy, 


56  IDEALINA. 

But  cease,  oh  memory  !  cease  to  bring 
Life's  vision  of  the  past  to  view — 

The  fickle,  transitory  thing 

That  blessed  the  heart  but  to  undo  ! 

'Tis  vain !  while  lingering  on  the  brink 
Of  time,  my  "  curse  shall  be  to  think" 


IV. 

And  I  will  love  thee,  shrined  one,  still ! 

Tho'  oft  the  voice  of  pleasure  lures, 
And  joy  and  music  earth's  bow'rs  fill, 

No  spell  like  these  the  spirit  cures, 
But  all  such  cheerful  sounds  doth  seem 

A  banquet  in  the  midst  of  death, 
Or  painful  memory  of  a  dream 

That  fled  before  the  simoom's  breath. 
Aye  !  I  will  love  thee,  tho'  the  thought 

"  Doth  work  like  madness  in  the  brain," 
Though  tears  that  to  the  soul  are  brought, 

Fall  o'er  its  waste,  a  purple  rain, 
Though  every  memory  is  a  pang, 

And  thoughts  are  serpents  in  the  heart, 
That  pierce  the  core  with  sheathless  fang 

'Till  poison  fills  up  every  part ! 
For  what  is  life  but  love  for  thee  ? 

Take  love  away  and  life  is  not ! 
Then  cease — oh !  cease — my  memory, 

That  I  may  share  her  peaceful  lot ! 


IDEALINA.  57 

Bark  world !  thou  hast  no  spell  to  win 

Me  from  the  woes  of  blighted  love, 
Thy  countless  shadowings  of  sin, 

But  teach  the  heart  to  look  above  ! 
Ambition's  dream  has  now  no  charm 

To  solace  suffering  like  mine  ; 
I  cannot  bow  with  feelings  warm 

At  Fame's  or  Glory's  hallowed  shrine  ; 
I  care  not  for  earth's  laurels  now, 

Its  vain  distinctions  and  its  pride  ; 
They  cannot  glow  upon  the  brow 

Of  her— my  heart-shrined — ANGEL-BRIDE  ! 


i. 


To  thee,  my  love's  last  lay,  I  sing, 

Sweet  angel  of  the  sky  ! 
And  then  will  break  the  harp's  lone  string 

And  its  sad  echoes  die  ! 
It  woke  when  fancy's  faith  was  strong, 
And  then  its  finest  chords  were  strung 

To  love's  sweet  melody, 
But  soon  the  blight  of  autumn  years 
Awoke  the  heart  and  it  to  tears  I 


58  IDEALINA. 


II. 


I've  loved  thee  long  !     The  angel  thou 

Of  passion's  earliest  dream, 
And  then  the  sun-beam  lit  my  brow 

As  with  Hope's  fairy  gleam, 
For  I  had  found  thee  on  the  earth 
A  stranger  fair  of  heavenly  birth, 

As  thou  to  me  didst  seem, 
And  then  I  made  thy  heart  my  shrine, 
And  worshipped  thee  as  though  divine  ! 


in. 


I  love  thee  now  !     And  though  I've  wept 

Life's  warm  and  bitter  tears, 
And  woes,  like  adders  coiled,  have  crept 

Around  youth's  better  years, 
Since  thou  hast  taken  back  thy  flight 
To  that  far  sphere  of  Eden  light 

Thy  birth  to  thee  endears — 
Still — still  thy  image  is  a  part 
Of  my  forlorn  and  bleeding  heart. 


IDEALINA.  59 


IV. 


Perchance  'tis  well  that  thou  art  freed 

From  chains  that  bound  thee  here  ! 
I  would  not  see  thy  bosom  bleed, 

Or  have  thee  shed  a  tear  ; 
And  oh,  if  thou  didst  linger  long 
A  part  of  Earth's  deceitful  throng, 

The  dark  contact  might  sear 
The  pure  fresh  thoughts  that  glow  within, 
Ere  AKT  doth  teach  the  soul  to  sin. 


v. 


I  would  not  meet  thee  when  the  thrall 

Of  earth  had  bound  thee  fast, — 
The  world's  dark  follies  would  appal 

The  memories  of  the  past ! 
I  would  not  ever  have  thee  feel 
"What  hollow  Fashion  would  reveal, 

Or  o'er  thy  heart  have  cast 
One  doubt  of  that  dear  friendship's  truth 
Which  gave  the  hallowing  charm  to  youth. 


60  IDEALINA. 


VI. 


But  woe  is  mine,  and  I  must  weep 

Its  bitter,  burning  tears — 
Nor  heart,  nor  memory  will  sleep 

Through  life's  long,  ling'ring  years  ; 
But  thoughts  of  thee  will  haunt  the  shrine 
O'er  which  Hope's  early  sun  did  shine, 

Undimmed  by  time's  dark  fears, 
And  then  I  feel  the  curse  and  blight 
Of  hopeless  love's  unchanging  night. 


VII. 

And  now,  loved  one  !  a  last  adieu  ! 

My  fitful  strain  is  o'er  ; 
The  lyre  that  hymned  thee  fond  and  true, 

Will  wake  its  chords  no  more  ; 
But  oh,  its  shattered  wreck  will  prove 
The  emblem  of  a  blighted  love  ! 

Thy  memory  I'll  adore — 
But  now,  I  feel  woe's  madd'ning  spell, 
And  bid — with  breaking  heart  —farewell ! ! 


THE  LOVER'S  SIGH, 


A    LEQEND    OF    THE    BILOXIS 


I. 


A  SOUND  of  mirth  is  on  the  air, 

A  joyous  sound  of  revelry  ; 
And  brightly  gleam  the  torches'  glare 

Where  dusky  forms  are  revelling  nigh, 
And  they  have  come  from  far  and  near 
To  mingle  in  the  present  cheer, 
Where  o'er  them  now  is  softly  thrown 
A  radiance  from  the  Joy-God's  throne, 
And  brightly  beams  on  every  brow 
The  mellow  tint  of  Pleasure's  glow. 

Is  aught  within  this  scene  of  mirth 
The  base  alloy  of  lowly  earth ! 
6 


Is  this  bright  hour  of  gladness  blent 
With  aught  of  passion's  dark  intent  ? 

'Tis  not  to  boast  of  many  scars 

Received  in  recent  bloody  wars, 

Or  from  the  past  their  prowess  prove, 

By  scalps,  around  each  girdle  wove, 

That  were  in  hour  of  battle  dread 

Torn  from  many  a  warrior  head  : 

'Tis  not  to  kindle  'new  the  ire 

That  once  had  glowed  with  madd'ning  fire, 

Or  conjure  up  some  demon  spell — 

Too  dark  for  minstrel  lore  to  tell — 

To  lure  within  their  dread  embrace 

The  Chieftain  of  some  hated  Race ; 

Nor  e'en  to  light  the  torrid  blaze, 

And  on  its  wreath- wrought  pinions  gaze, 

As  when  it  circles  high  in  air 

The  stake-bound  victim  of  despair, 

That  now  those  noble  forms  have  met, 

On  whom  the  seal  of  joy  is  set. 

Beneath  the  dusky  veil  of  night, — 

Within  the  blazing  torches'  light, 

The  Chieftain  of  a  warrior  race 

Has  brought  the  fairest  of  his  Tribe, — 
And  now  upon  her  blushing  face 

He  prints  the  seal — A  CHIEFTAIN'S  BRIDE. 


THE  LOVER'S  SIGH.  63 


n. 


And  they  are  too  a  bright  array 

Of  youthful  charms  concentred  there. 
And  eyes  than  dimmer  earth  more  fair 

Shoot  forth  many  a  sparkling  ray. 
But  She,  the  fairest  of  them  all, 

For  whom  the  youthful  maidens  vie 
"  To  sing  her  praise  and  wait  her  call" — 

Will  peace  her  bosom  ever  fly  ? 
Alas  !  a  fearful  shadow  steals 
Already  o'er  a  heart  that  feels 
The  cup  of  Life  is  drained  of  all 
That  could  its  joyous  dreams  enthrall. 
Yet  on  the  brow  no  shadow  came — 
Indeed,  'twere  worse  than  endless  shame, 
By  action,  thought,  or  word  to  show 
That  there  was  aught  but  pleasure's  glow, 
Could  flush  her  cheek  of  olive  then — 
And  sorrow  sheathed  its  shaft  within. 
Deep,  deep  within  her  bosom  shrined,        \  , , 
Were  feelings  of  no  heav'nly  kind  ; 
For  tho'  with  hers  was  linked  a  name 

That  shed  fame's  brightness  o'er  her  fate — 
Reigned  fondly  still  love's  passion-flame 

For  one  whose  heart  was  desolate. 

She  loved  a  youthful  form  and  face, 

In  which  her  trusting  thoughts  could  trace 


IKE  LOVER'S  SIGH. 

A  heart  that  throbbed  in  unison 

With  all  the  feelings  of  her  own. 

And  oft  this  Indian  youth  had  wooed 

The  maiden  in  her  solitude, 

And  in  those  secret  haunts,  had  learned 

The  depth  of  that  strange  love  which  burned 

In  still  unfading  brightness  'round 

The  hopes  that  were  with  cypress  crowned. 

Now  swift  the  maiden's  fancy  flew 

O'er  realms  fresh  bathed  in  morning  dew, 

When  Hope  had  seen  its  earliest  light 

And  heav'nward  plumed  its  eager  flight ; 

And  in  that  fairy  land  is  seen 

The  freshness  of  Life's  morning  dream, 

And  'neath  its  soft  and  mellow  skies 

A  thousand  struggling  memories  rise, 

Which  force  the  heart  to  live  and  feel 

Despite  the  fear  of  coming  ill. 

But  now,  again,  the  vision's  passed 

That  for  a  moment  o'er  was  cast 

The  darkness  of  her  mental  sky, 

And  Hope  is  left  to  droop  and  die. 

The  warrior-youth  who  claimed  her  love 

Was  one  of  a  forbidden  Tribe  ;       f 
And  she — his  fond  and  gentle  Dove — 

A  stern  Biloxi  Chieftain's  Bride  1 


THE  LOVER'S  SIGH.  65 


in. 


The  cheering  sounds  of  mirth  have  died 

Away  upon  the  zephyr's  wing, 
And  quiet  reigns  in  primal  pride 

Where  late  was  joyous  revelling. 
A  pall  of  darkness  hovering  nigh 
Is  seen  upon  the  midnight  sky  ; 
But  there  is  one  of  youthful  form 
With  daring  high  and  pulses  warm, 
Who  lingers  still  in  ambush,  near 
Th'  abandoned  scene  of  festive  cheer, 
As  if,  within  his  bosom  deep, 
A  feeling  strange  that  will  not  sleep, 
Impelled  him  to  some  rash  emprise 
Beneath  those  darkly  low'ring  skies — 
Whose  fearful  shadows  now  are  blent 
With  darkness  of  the  deep  intent — 
And  o'er  him  comes  the  cherished  thought 
Of  vengeance  that  his  bosom  sought. 

Go  tempt  the  monarch  lion  in  his  lair 
When  hungry  passion  wakes  the  startled  air, 
And  with  a  fury's  crying — madd'ning  sound 
The  woods  and  hollow  caves  re-echo  'round — 
When  from  his  burning  eye  -balls  fiercely  dash 
The*  streaming  terrors  of  the  lightning's  flash, 
Or  quickly  flames  within  each  angry  eye 
The  fearful  glance  of  woful  destiny ; 
6* 


THE  LOVER'S  SIGH. 

Go  to  the  royal  Tigress'  secret  den 

Where  yet  the  hunter's  guilty  trace  is  seen, 

And  first,  the  mother  feels  her  bosom  pierced 

With  fortune's  demon  shaft— with  grief  accurst, 

And  in  her  boiling-heart,  a  wretched  fire 

Glowing  with  deadly,  deep,  revengeful  ire, 

She  starts  aloud  the  fearful,  shrieking  cry 

Of  worse — far  worse  than  mortal  agony, 

And  then  is  prest,  is  fondly,  madly  prest 

Her  lifeless  young  ones  to  her  bleeding  breast ; — 

Aye  go,  and  still  with  safety  you  may  dare 

The  more  than  madness  of  her  grief's  despair, 

Destroy  the  angry  tigress  in  her  cave 

Where  gladly  seeks  she  then,  a  welcome  grave ; 

Or  e'en  may  challenge  too  the  forest  king 

Whose  tones  in  fierce  and  wrathful  echo's  ring, 

And  from  the  dread  rencontre  proudly  rise 

With  triumph  gleaming  from  your  sparkling  eyes. 

But  nought  may  hope  to  'scape  the  dreadful  ire, 

That's  waked  by  youthful  Passion's  warm  desire, 

Or  quench  the  maddening  thoughts  that  anxious  burn 

In  fitful  gleams  around  Hope's  early  urn, 

And  vainly  would  the  helpless  victim  hope 

The  deadly  vengeance-spell  around  him  broke, 

Which  dwells  within  the  joyless  soul's  recess 

Nor  pitying  calms  its  deep  and  wild  distress. 

For  oh,  when  shadows  cloud  the  heart, 
And  from  its  fairy  realms  depart 


THE  LOVER'S  SIGH.  67 

The  empress  Pleasure  from  her  throne, 

And  hush'd  the  spell  of  Music's  tone 

Which  thrilled  through  every  chord 

'Till  Passion's  demon  throng  adored  ; 

When  all  that  erst  was  bright  and  fair 

On  earth  or  sea,  in  sky  or  air — 
As  if  some  fiend  of  darkness  came 
O'er  fancy's  beauteous  realm  to  reign, 
And  spreading  wide  each  sable  wing 
Gives  Hope  its  darkened  coloring — 

No  more  may  gild  th'  enraptured  view 

Or  bloom  with  Hope's  enchanting  hue  ; 

When  Love  hath  sheathed  with  practised  art 

Its  pois'nous  arrows  in  the  heart, 

And  then  is  felt  the  bitter  curse 

Of  Passion — horrid  phantom-nurse — 

The  blight  of  Eden's  dearest  flowers 

That  garlanded  life's  morning  hours, 

And  in  the  soul  a  quenchless  flame 

That  sears  the  heart  and  rends  the  brain — 

Oh  then  will  come  the  desperate  thought 

To  flaming  glow  of  frenzy  wrought, 

That  would  with  reckless  fury  dare 

The  darkest  bidding  of  despair. 

And  now  within  that  youthful  Indian's  breast 
When  all,  save  him,  have  sought  their  couches'  rest, 
There  lurks  a  deadly  and  prophetic  hate 
That  spurns  the  fell  decree  of  recent  fate 


68  THE  LOVER'S  SIGH. 

And  fiercely  in  its  growing  madness  glows 
To  wreak  full  vengeance  on  exulting  foes. 
And  when  shall  blushing  break  the  new-born  clay 
'    And  shine  again  on  earth  dawn's  earliest  ray 
A  piercing  wail  will  startle  all  the  land 
And  quickly  rouse  to  arms  each  warrior  band, 
And  hills  and  dales  will  echo  round 
The  startling  war-whoop's  yelling  sound. 

Sleep  on  ! — Concealed  in  midnight  shade, 

The  lover  of  that  fair  young  maid. 

All  fiery  with  the  fell  intent 

On  which  his  soul  was  firmly  bent, 

Drew  forth  from  'neath  the  shell-decked  veil 

That  shields  his  bosom  from  the  gale — 

Where  hidden  now  its  empty  sheath — 

The  poisoned  instrument  of  death, 

And  as  with  stern  uplifted  eye 

He  reared  its  point  toward  the  sky, — 

Whose  shadows  feed  the  soul's  unrest — 

Bade  all  his  idol-Gods  attest 

And  on  Heaven's  azure-tinted  brow 

Record  his  soul-avenging  vow — 

That  ere  the  dawn  shall  tint  the  sky, 

Its  blade  shall  blush  with  crimson  pride, 
And  wakeless  in  his  slumber  lie 

The  Chief  of  Bilox'  haughty  Tribe. 


THE  LOVER'S  SIGH.  69 


IV. 


'Tis  morn, — a  fair  and  beauteous  morn  ! 

All  cloudless  now  the  azure  scene 
Where  gathering  shadows  late  had  been, 

But  slept  the  spirit  of  the  storm. 
'Tis  morn !   that  bright  and  cheerful  hour 

When  Heaven  puts  forth  a  ruddy  glare 
And  blushing  wakes  the  dew-gemrn'd  flow'r 

To  scatter  fragrance  on  the  air, — 
The  time  when  sounds  of  air  and  earth 
Within  the  anxious  heart  give  birth 
To  quiet  dreams  of  hope  and  joy, 
And  visions  of  life's  unalloy. ; 
When  pleasure  with  her  golden  crown 
Sits  high  on  her  imperial  throne, 
And  proudly  waves  her  sceptre  hand  j 
To  shower  blessings  o'er  the  land. 

But  oh,  there  is  many  a  heart 

That  feels  not  now  the  blissful  hope 
Which  those  sweet  visions  can  impart, 
And  sighs  to  know  its  spirit  broke  ! 
Oh  !  there's  many  an  eye  once  bright 
Now  shines  with  a  decaying  light, 
And  shaded  brows  that  never  knew 
As  now,  the  depth  of  sorrow's  hue. 
The  stream  of  their  existence  grows 
Yet  darker  as  the  current  flows, 


70 


And  on  its  surface  swift  are  borne 
The  wreck  of  joys  forever  gone. 

Deep — deep  within  their  bosoms'  swell 
The  thoughts  no  earthly  power  can  quell, 
And  on  the  track  of  guilt  they  fly 
To  wreak  full  vengeance  or  to  die. 
Where  now  is  he  who  wakes  the  grief 
That  seeks  in  streams  of  blood  relief  ? 
Who  madjy  in  his  vengeance  swore 
The  Chieftain  should  awake  no  more, 
And  to  his  couch  in  secret  went, 
Nor  proved  in  vain  his  dark  intent  ? 

No  beaten  trail  he  now  pursues 
As  through  the  forest  realm  he  goes, 
No  'customed  track  he  seeks  to  find 
As  anxious  oft  he  looks  behind 
In  hope  to  lure  the  fearful  wrath 
Of  vengeance  on  his  hidden  path. 
And  does  he  tread  those  wilds  alone  ? 
Have  all  his  hopes  so  sterile  grown, 
That  not  a  glimpse  of  pleasure's  gleam 
Lights  up  the  dread  and  lonely  scene  ? 

A  fair  and  fragile  form  is  by — 
There  stirs  within  no  anguish' d  sigh, 
For  blest,  with  all  his  wishes  blest, 
Joy  rears  its  throne  within  his  breast. 


4 


THE  LOVER'S  SIGH.  71 

And  she  is  lovely  as  the  morn 

When  first  awakes  the  flush  of  dawn, 

And  o'er  the  earth  is  mildly  thrown 

Soft  radiance  from  Aurora's  throne. 

In  vain  the  limner's  art  might  trace 

The  sweetness  of  that  fair  young  face — 

In  vain  his  skilful  hand  essay 

Its  many  beauties  to  portray ; 

Such  pleasing  charms — such  potent  spell 

Within  those  clustering  graces  dwell, 

It  seems' as  if  to  earth  was  given 

A  spirit  robed  in  hues  of  Heaven. 
Who  is  the  venturous  maid,  so  sweetly  fair — 
As  beauteous  as  Heaven's  angels  are — 
That  clings  so  fondly  to  her  loved  one's  side 

As  hurriedly  he  threads  his  doubtful  way  ? 
Say,  can  it  be  the  fallen  Chieftain's  bride  ? 

Will  peace  within  her  trusting  bosom  stay  ? 
Will  sweetest  flowers  along  her  path  be  strown 
And  angel  happiness  guard  her  as  its  own  ? 


v. 


The  sun  is  waning  in  decline, 
Its  last,  faint  rays  but  dimly  shine 
Upon  the  tall  tree-tops,  and  now 
Yet  linger  on  the  mountain's  brow. 
Deep  in  that  dark  and  lonely  wood 
Where  nature's  throned  in  solitude. 


72  THE  LOVER'S  SIGH. 

There  rose  erect  in  towering  pride, 
And  closely  standing  side  by  side, 
Two  pines  of  equal  height  and  size, 
Far  reaching  to  the  nether  skies, 
And  at  their  base  two  forms  recline — 
Oh  fair  each  spirit's  earthly  shrine — 
By  hunger,  thirst  and  toil  o'ercome, 
Their  race,  alas,  untimely  run  ! 
For  where  the  Indian  lovers  slept, 
Around  them,  thickly,  slyly  crept 
The  deadliest  reptiles  that  have  birth 
Within  those  secret  haunts  of  earth ; 
With  sparkling  eyes,  now  hissing  round, 
They  coil  them  for  the  fatal  bound — 
And  now — is  tlirust  the  threatened  fang 
That  wakes  them  with  its  deadly  pang. 

Hark  !  'pon  their  fast  pursuing  path 
Rings  loud  the  echoed  yell  of  wrath ; — 
Nearer  and  nearer  still  they  come — 
At  last,  the  vengeance- goal  is  won. 
A  mellow  music  'mong  the  trees 
As  swaying  to  the  zephhyr's  breeze, 
Commingling  with  the  last  sad  sigh 
Of  those  young  lovers  ere  they  die, 
Fell  'pon  each  dread  pursuer's  ear 
And  filled  him  with  a  nameless  fear — 
A  thrill — a  strange,  mysterious  dread — 
They  turned — -and  left  unharmed — the  dead. 


THE  LOVER'S  SIGIL  73 

As  oft  is  heard  at  evening's  quiet  hour, 
When  nature  charms  with  weird,  mysterious  power, 
The  soft,  low,  wailing  sounds  that  often  come, 
From  pine-trees  breathing  gentle  zephyr's  moan, 
The  dusky  sons  of  Bilox'  haughty  Tribe, 
Tell  of  the  Chieftain's  fair  and  faithless  Bride, 
And  of  the  youthful  lovers  shuddering  tell 
The  righteous  fate  their  wanton  hopes  befel, 
And  name  the  moaning  sound  that  wantons  by— 
THE  DYING  INDIAN  LOVERS'  SIGH, 


MARY. 


I. 


THERE'S  brightness  on  thy  brow,  Mary, 

And  thine  the  sunny  glow  of  youth, 
And  dreams  of  happiness  are  now 

To  thee,  the  spirit-spell  of  truth. 
Thy  heart  is  free  from  every  cloud 

That  comes  from  cavern- depths  of  care, 
And  free  from  sorrow's  early  shroud 

The  spirit-dove  that  nestles  there. 


n. 


There's  hope  in  thy  young  heart,  Mary, 
And  pleasure  sparkles  in  thy  smile, 

And  thine  the  soul-entrancing  art 
Another's  sorrow  can  beguile. 


MARY.  75 

Bright  visions  of  the  future  now 

In  fancy's  mirror  you  behold, 
And  joy  and  hope  illume  thy  brow 

Like  gems  empearled  in  beauty's  mould. 


III. 


There's  brightness  in  thy  glance,  Mary, — 

The  Day-God  sheds  no  fonder  beam 
than  those  bright  orbs  which  can  entrance 

The  heart  by  their  resplendent  sheen. 
And  oh,  the  sweetness  of  thy  smile 

Gives  glow  of  radiance  to  thy  cheek, 
In  whose  bright  beams  can  bask  the  while 

Love's  fairy,  and  its  vigils  keep. 


IV. 


There's  music  in  thy  voice,  Mary, 

In  every  tone  a  heavenly  thrill, 
And  proudly  does  the  soul  rejoice 

In  treasuring  each  soft  cadence  still. 
Thy  song  is  yet  upon  the  air, 

And  unseen  spirits  worship  'round, 
And  to  the  heart's  deep  chambers  bear 

The  rapture  of  its  thrilling  sound. 


76  MARY, 


V. 


All  earth  to  thee  is  bright,  Mary, 

With  every  soft  enchanting  hue, 
And  flowers  greet  thy  raptured  sight, 

Without  one  bitter  thorn  in  view. 
And  oh,  were  mine  the  fairy  spell 

To  circle  round  thy  coming  days, 
In  thy  pure  heart  should  ever  dwell 

The  brightness  of  life's  morning  rays. 


VI. 


But  clouds  come  o'er  the  sky,  Mary, 

And  darkly  robe  the  beam  of  day, 
And  hearts  are  often  made  to  sigh 

Ere  youth  has  spent  its  earliest  ray. 
The  shafts  of  canker -care  are  worn 

Deep — deep  within  the  bosom's  cell, 
And  sorrow  plants  its  bitter  thorn 

Where  joy  had  wreathed  its  garland- spell. 


VII. 


And  he,  who  strikes  the  lyre,  Mary, 

Who  sweeps  e'en  now  its  trembling  strings, 


MAEY.  77 

Has  felt  the  glow  of  passion-fire 

That  to  the  heart  ambition  brings  : — 

And  ere  the  ocean  of  his  youth 

Had  laved  proud  manhood's  distant  shore, 

What  life  had  known  of  joy  and  truth 
Was  mingled  with  affliction's  store. 


vm. 

A  glorious  gift  is  thine,  Mary, 

Mind's  signet  on  thy  forehead  beams, 
And  round  thy  spirit's  earthly  shrine 

A  glow  of  sun-like  radiance  streams. 
But  o'er  thy  brow  will  come  a  shade, 

And  Passion  there  will  set  its  seal, 
And  flowers  in  thy  path  will  fade 

When  life  its  darker  hues  reveal. 


IX. 


I  would  thou  could'st  not  share,  Mary, 

The  canker-spell  of  care  and  pain, 
Or  in  thy  gentle  bosom  bear 

The  sadness  of  hope's  dying  strain. 
But  seldom  cloudless  is  the  sky 

O'er  which  the  rays  of  genius  shine — 
And  surely  flashes  from  thine  eye 

The  radiance  of  that  light  divine. 
*7 


78  MARY. 


X. 


A  friend's  fond  wish  is  thine,  Mary, — 

Oh,  may  life's  each  revolving  year, 
Renew  youth's  cherished  primrose  time, — 

Thy  heart  unsullied  by  a  tear : 
And  may  thy  light  of  joy  e'er  shame 

The  lustre  of  youth's  sunny  beam, 
And  thou  continue  e'er  to  reign 

The  Empress  of  Hope's  radiant  scene. 


SONNETS, 


SUSAN. 


i. 


A  WORLD  of  thought,  of  dreamy  thought  lies  stored 

Within  the  depths  of  those  bright,  sparkling  orbs 
That  beam  upon  the  soul  with  wondrous  power, 

And  captive  bind  the  unreluctant  heart. 
In  gazing  on  thy  features  fair,  a  hoard 

Of  fancies  throng  the  brain — the  soul  absorbs 
Each  pleasing  dream,  and  consecrates  the  hour 

That  formed  of  friendship  pure,  and  thee  a  part. 
A  gem-like  sheen  upon  thy  brow  appears, 

Which  is  the  reflex  of  immortal  mind — 
A  glow  that  will  not  fade  in  after  years, 

When  beauty,  pleasure,  youth  are  left  behind, 
But  be  through  time  and  change,  a  light  to  bless 
Thee  with  its  constant  beam  of  happiness. 


80  SONNETS. 


FANNIE. 


n. 


Upon  thy  fair  and  placid  brow  I  love 

To  look.     There  beauty  sits  enthroned,  and  waves 
The  idol-sceptre  that  the  heart  can  move 

To  mild  obedience,  when  it  madly  braves 
The  power  of  love.     The  gift  of  high  command 

O'er  thoughts  all  cold  and  passionless  is  thine. 
And  thine  to  hold  o'er  hearts  the  mystic  wand 

That  homage  draws  to  beauty's  gem-wrought  shrine, 
And  thou  art  good  as  fair  !     Within  thy  breast 

There  lies  of  instincts  pure,  a  treasured  mine, 
And  each  loved  trait  that  virtue  knows,  a  guest 

Thy  heart  doth  own,  and  all  its  worth  is  thine. 
What  joy  to  thee  !  what  brilliant  hope  it  brings  ! 

What  happy  thoughts  and  blest  imaginings  ! 


SONNETS.  81 


JANE. 


in. 


The  witchery  of  gentleness  and  truth 

Doth  spell-like  hold  thee  in  its  pleasant  thrall, 
And  blooming  with  the  hues  of  primrose  youth, 

Joy  crowns  thee  with  its  radiant  coronal. 
Retiring  as  the  day-light's  fading  beam, 

And  modest  as  the  blushing  tints  of  dawn — 
Thou  seem'st  the  angel  of  a  lover's  dream — • 

Or  rosy  Goddess  of  the  vernal  morn* 
Within  thy  heart  is  innocence  enshrined, 

And  on  thy  brow  hope's  impress  bright  appears  ; 
Thy  face  is  radiant  with  the  glow  of  mind 

That  casts  a  pleasure-beam  o'er  coming  years. 
The  sweetest  flowers  along  thy  path  are  strown 
And  angel-happiness  guards  thee  as  its  own. 


MIDNIGHT   MUSINGS. 


I. 


AT  this  lone  hour,  when  all  is  still 

Save  oft  the  wanton  breeze's  moan, 
The  thoughts  that  then  my  bosom  thrill, 

When  left,  sad,  weary  and  alone, 
Cast  gloomy  shadows  on  my  mind, 

And  life  a  fearful  vision  seems, 
So  fraught  with  hopes  that  ne'er  may  find 

Existence  save  in  fitful  gleams. 


n. 


And  often  at  this  cheerless  hour — 
This  hour  of  quietude  and  gloom, 

I  yield  my  heart  unto  that  power 

Which  breathes  of  sadness  and  the  tomb. 


MIDNIGHT  MUSINGS.  83 


The  dreams  of  other  years  come  back 
And  cluster  wildly  on  the  heart, 

And  Feeling,  tortured  on  the  rack 
Of  Memory,  seeks  its  shrine  apart. 


ni. 

How  frail  indeed  are  human  hopes — 

All  fair  in  Boyhood's  primrose  time  ; 
But  soon  as  when  the  flow'ret  opes 

Their  beauties  wither  and  decline. 
And  yet,  'tis  well  our  early  years 

Are  full  of  HopVs  indulgent  smiles, 
Since  after-time  is  fraught  with  tears, 

And  seldom  joy  the  heart  beguiles. 


IV. 


Those  youthful  hopes,  man's  early  dreams, 

They  fondly  cling  to  memory's  chain, 
And  to  the  heart  their  sunny  beams 

Oft  give  delight, — alas ! — how  vain, — 
We  ask  again  for  joyous  youth, 

The  bounding  pulse,  the  cheerful  tread, 
The  heart's  first  innocence  and  truth, 

Which  now  like  summer  dreams  have  fled. 


84  MIDNIGHT  MUSINGS. 


V. 


In  vain  the  call — the  vision's  past — 

From  youth's  gay  scenes  we're  torn  apart, 
And  lone  remembrance  shrines  at  last 

In  silent  hope  the  joyless  heart. 
Those  early  dreams  have  fled  away, 

And  now  the  storm  of  bitter  ills 
That  make  man's  life  a  wintry  day, 

Alone  our  sad  existence  fills. 


VI. 


Such  are  the  thoughts  that  wildly  come 

In  midnight's  silence  o'er  the  mind, 
And  mar  the  blissful  hopes  that  bloom 

In  visions  with  our  being  twined. 
And  I  have  felt  the  sadd'ning  change 

Which  grief  has  wrought  upon  the  heart, 
And  hopes,  and  fears,  and  tumults  strange,- 

Unwelcome  guests  that  ne'er  may  part. 


Not  thus  howe'er  at  noon  of  night 
These  hated  visions  crowded  e'er, — 


MIDNIGHT  MUSINGS.  85 

'Twas  oft  in  dreams  of  fond  delight 

I  learned  its  muteness  to  revere. 
Then  buried  in  my  books  and  'lone, 

A  daring  thought  possessed  my  brain, 
I  would  not  live  and  die  unknown 

Or  wear  an  undistinguished  name. 


VIII. 

'Twas  then  Ambition  seized  my  mind 

And  lit  up  fiery  dreams  of  fame, 
And  oft  I  thought  that  I  could  find 

The  goal  whence  burned  the  flickering  flame. 
The  anxious  hope,  the  fevered  brain, 

Did  startle  Thought's  electric  fire, 
'Till  tortured  nerves  and  growing  pain 

Forbid  me  longer  to  aspire. 


IX. 


And  now  the  frenzied  hope  is  dead, 

That  made  the  bubble  fame  its  goal, 
And  thoughts  and  feelings  all  are  fled, 

That  Passion  flooded  on  the  soul. 
The  time  of  youth,  the  boyhood  time, 

When  dreams  flash  brightness  on  life's  path," 
Ambition's  visions,  all,  in  fine, 

Are  rent  as  by  the  lightning's  wrath. 
8 


86  MIDNIGHT  MUSINGS. 


X. 


All — all  are  gone,  and  I  am  not 

The  dreaming  boy  of  other  years, 
Those  fruitless  fancies  are  forgot, 

And  what  were  smiles  are  changed  to  tears. 
Upon  my  heart  the  vulture  feeds, — 

And  hence,  all  daring  hope  of  fame, 
And  thoughts  that  aimed  at  lofty  deeds 

Have  wandered  back  to  whence  they  came. 


XI. 


Thus,  let  them  rest, — my  brow  is  mild, 

And  now  my  pulse  beats  gently  on, 
And  passions  that  were  deep  and  wild 

Have  fluttered  on  the  heart  and  gone. 
Yet  am  I  changed.     And  oft  as  moans 

Each  murmuring  breeze  that  wantons  by, 
Fve  felt  its  cadence  in  life's  tones 

And  thought  'twere  luxury  to  die. 


STANZAS, 


i. 


You  ask  me  fair  Lady,  why  slumbers 

My  harp-string  neglected  so  long, 
And  bid  me  awaken  its  numbers 

To  echos  of  gladness  and  song. 
Oh,  you  know  not  what  sorrows  oppress 

The  heart  that  is  nurtured  in  woe, 
For  the  spell  of  Youth's  vision  can  bless 

The  harp  of  the  Minstrel  no  more. 


ii. 


My  bark  was  thrown  out  on  life's  ocean 
In  the  brightness  of  youth's  early  morn, 

When  hope  and  the  heart's  fond  emotion 
Were  free  from  the  touch  of  the  thorn. 


88  STANZAS. 

In  the  sky  of  my  fate  there  appeared 
A  star  that  shone  bright  and  serene, 

And  with  pleasure's  wild  fancies  I  reared 
The  fabric  of  life's  golden  dream. 


in. 


O'er  the  waves  a  dark  tempest  appearing — 

There  burst  from  the  storm-cloud  a  flame, 
That  reft  the  proud  vessel  careering 

Of  all  but  a  fragment  and  name. 
And  the  star  o'er  my  fate  that  was  cast, 

To  lead  me  to  fortune  and  fame, 
Grew  dim,  until  extinguished  at  last 

In  the  depth  of  my  folly  and  shame. 


IV. 

The  Roman  in  sadness  once  musing 

On  the  ruins  that  grew  dark  on  his  sight, 
Felt  a  glow  of  deep  sorrow  suffusing 

The  heart  that  had  nurtured  delight. 
Thus  aroused  to  reflection  he  stood 

A  statue  of  grief  and  despair, 
And  moved  at  the  wreck  of  time's  flood, 

He  paid  the  sad  tribute — a  tear. 


STANZAS. 


V. 


How  dark  are  the  hopes  and  4espairing 

That  cluster  around  my  sad  heart — 
The  spells  of  deep  sorrow  are  tearing 

Youth's  pleasure  and  being  apart. 
The  sweet  visions  that  fancy  would  call 

From  the  depths  of  the  spirit  land, 
The  hopes  of  my  manhood  appal, 

Like  a  spectral  and  shadowy  band. 


VI. 


Then  ask  not,  fair  Lady,  why  slumbers 

My  harp-string  neglected  so  long, 
Nor  bid  me  awaken  its  numbers 

To  echoes  of  gladness  and  song. 
Alas  !  you  know  not  what  sorrows  oppress 

The  heart  that  is  nurtured  in  woe, 
For  the  spell  of  youth's  vision  can  bless 

The  Harp  of  the  Minstrel  no  more. 


UNBIND  THIS  WREATH. 


i. 


UNBIND  this  "wreath  upon  my  brow 

Whence  hope  and  joy  have  fled, 
This  garland  ill  beseems  me  now — 

My  thoughts  are  with  the  dead. 
They  linger  o'er  the  grave  where  sleeps 

The  loved  of  other  days, 
And  oh,  the  heart  in  sadness  weeps 

For  hope's  departed  rays. 


11. 


Take  back — take  back  the  worthless  prize 

That  lured  my  parent's  will, 
I  cannot  wed  in  joy's  disguise 

When  griefs  my  bosom  fill. 


UNBIND  THIS  WEEATH.  91 

This  gaudy  wreath  would  fairer  bloom 

On  hope's  young,  spotless  brow — 
On  mine  alas,  there  is  a  gloom 

That  dims  its  cheerful  glow. 


in. 


Unbind  this  wreath  !     I  will  not  wear 

The  joy  I  do  not  feel — 
These  bridal  robes  bedeck  despair 

Whose  wounds  they  cannot  heal. 
Oh,  what  is  gold,  that  life  should  give 

Its  memory  of  years, 
And  force  the  broken  heart  to  live 

In  wretchedness  and  tears. 


LOVE    UNCHANGING. 


I. 


THY  eye  still  brightly  beams,  Love, 

With  light  that  erst  was  thine, 
In  which  affection  seems 

To  keep  its  sainted  shrine. 
Thy  gaze  so  sweet,  with  joy  complete, 
Thy  cheerful  smile  that  knows  no  wile. 

Are  links  that  bind  me  fast 

To  memories  of  the  past. 


II. 


No  change  is  in  thy  heart,  Love, 
Thou  art  in  all  the  same, 

As  when  thy  winning  art 
Did  first  nuy  homage  claim. 


LOVE  UNCHANGING. 


And  though  we've  seen  youth's  faded  dream, 
And  lived  through  years  of  toil  and  tears 3 

No  fortune  e'er  beguiles 

From  love  its  trusting  smiles. 


in. 

How  oft  in  mem'ry's  glass,  Love, 

I  pierce  the  misty  veil 
That  time  throws  o'er  the  past 

To  dim  Love's  youthful  tale. 
Oh  then  I  feel  thy  image  steal 
In  light  of  youth,  of  love  and  truth 

Across  my  soul  that  shares 

The  burden  of  thy  cares. 


IV. 


And  you  through  life  will  be,  Love, 

A  faithful  spirit  still, 
And  I  the  same  to  thee, 

Through  scenes  of  joy  and  ill. 
Thy  bloom  will  fade,  and  time  will  shade 
Thy  beauty's  page  with  dents  of  age, 

But  in  my  heart  will  be 

Unchanging  love  for  thee. 


OH!    I  REMEMBER! 


OH,  I  remember  well  the  hour 
When  first  I  owned  thy  beauty's  power, 
And  felt  to  earth  a  charm  was  given 
To  guile  me  with  its  mimic  Heaven. 
Enchained  I  sat  beside  thee  then 
While  feelings  strange  grew  up  within, 
My  heart's  fond  happiness  to  prove — 
But  oh  !     I  did  not  dream  'twas  love  ! 


I  left  thee  only  for  a  day, 
But  thought  did  yield  to  fancy's  sway, 
And  still  I  bask'd  the  ling'ring  while 
Within  the  light  of  beauty's  smile. 


OH!   I  REMEMBER.  9   5 

I  heard  thy  gentle  accents  o'er, 
Thy  eyes,  bright  beaming  as  before, 
And  felt  my  heart's  deep  fountains  move, 
But  oh !  I  did  not  dream  'twas  love  ! 


m, 


And  now,  I  look  into  my  heart, 
Thy  image  fills  up  every  part ; 
I  scan  the  mirror  of  my  soul, 
And  there  thy  shadow  has  control ; 
And  thought  ne'er  borne  on  wings  afar, 
Makes  thee  its  bourne  and  idol-star  ; — 
Let  these  thy  trophies  amply  prove, 
How  close  each  feeling  links  with  love. 


THE    MINIATURE. 


I  GAZE  entranced !  and  as  my  wondering  eyes 
Drink  in  the  beauty  of  thy  witching  smile, 

The  hopes  and  haunted  thoughts  of  years  arise 
That  line  the  shore  of  memory's  dream-girt  isle, 

And  Moslem-like,  I  feel  at  length  'tis  given, 

To  view  the  Houri  of  my  visioned  Heaven. 


I  gaze,  and  fain  would  bow  and  worship  thee, 
For  ne'er  did  to  the  Grecian  minstrel  seem 

A  Goddess  worthier  of  the  homaged  knee, 

Nor  e'er  did  Nymph  that  haunted  Poet's  dream, 

Awaken  half  the  deep  idolatry 

My  heart  has  gathered  to  its  shrine  for  thee. 


THE  MINIATURE.  97 


III. 


Thou  seem'st  too  lovely  far  for  mortal  birth — 
An  angel-visitant  of  this  lowly  sphere, — 

Thy  charms  are  of  the  primrose  morn  of  earth 
When  every  flower  did  its  God  revere — 

When  Naiads  laughed  beside  the  silver  stream 

And  fairies  revelled  in  the  orient  beam. 


IV. 


Sweet  shape  !    Thy  beauty  has  enchained  my  thought, 
And  fixed  its  anchored  dreams  on  thee  alone, 

And  oh,  the  shrine  my  pilgrim-fancy  sought 
Is  in  the  marvel  of  thy  graces  won. 

Thou  art  the  cynosure  of  every  dream 

That  gave  to  earth  its  brightest,  happiest  beam. 


v. 


The  Elfin-genius  of  the  smile  doth  beam 
In  kindling  beauty  on  thy  blooming  lip, 

Where  nectar,  rich  as  Hermion  dews,  I  ween 
Would  tempt  the  Grecian  Deities  to  sip. 

Oh  oft,  my  kisses  warm  I've  showered  there 

And  fain  would  breathe  my  life  on  lips  so  fair. 
9 


98  THE  MINIATURE. 


VI. 


Sweet  image,  say  !     Art  thou  of  Earth  or  Air  ? 

Art  thou  a  being  of  the  realms  of  life, 
Or  has  the  Artist's  fancy  placed  thee  there, 

The  sun  of  dreams  with  which  his  soul  was  rife, 
To  type  some  Naiad  of  the  moonlit  wave, 
Or  Peri  of  the  ocean's  coral  cave  ? 


VII. 


Thou  art  so  fair  in  feature  and  in  form, 

It  seems,  some  Angel  quitting  Heaven's  sphere, 

Dissolved  in  light,  whose  radiant  beam  of  morn 
Quick  flew  to  earth  and  left  its  image  here. 

Whate'er  thy  source,  I  know  and  feel  thou  art 

The  loved  Egeria  of  my  dreaming  heart. 


VIII. 

I  gaze,  and  lingering  gaze  as  on  the  star 

That  brightest  shines  in  Love's  Ausonian  sky, 

Whose  beams  fall  softly  from  their  home  afar 
And  on  the  soul  in  mirrored  beauty  lie, 

Awaking  in  the  heart  a  music-tone, 

Like  Harp  of  Memnon  answering  to  the  sun. 


THE  MINIATURE.  99 


IX. 


For  veiled  within  the  heart  there  is  a  lyre 
That  sweetly  echoes  to  affection's  breath, 

And  every  feeling  wakes  a  kindred  wire 

That  twines  about  the  soul  its  music-wreath  ; — 

And  now,  I  feel  some  fond  emotion  move 

The  chord  that  trembles  to  the  sigh  of  love. 


x. 


Yes,  image  fair !    I  own  thou  hast  a  spell 
Zanoni-like,  around  my  being  thrown, 

And  hopes  and  feelings  that  no  power  can  quell 
Have  with  each  look  at  thee  more  earthly  grown, 

Until  encompassed  by  Love's  mystic  chain, 

I  struggle  with  its  faultless  links  in  vain. 


Thou  art  indeed,  the  idol  of  my  soul, 

The  earth-born  Goddess  at  whose  shrine  I  bow, 
And  e'er  I'll  turn  me  from  earth's  low  control 

To  Eden  visions  such  as  haunt  me  now, 
And  seek  in  pride  of  fame  and  power  to  be 
More  pure  in  heart  and  less  unworthy  thee. 


100  THE  MINIATURE. 


XII. 


What  though  be  filled  the  storehouse  of  the  mind 
With  lessons  taught  in  tomes  of  ancient  lore, 

Or  quaffed  Pierian  fount  where  song  is  shrined 
And  Poesy  sweeps  still  its  harp  of  yore, 

If  o'er  Ambition's  way  thy  light  doth  throw 

No  beam  to  hallow  life  with  kindred  glow  ? 


XIII. 

Oh,  Life  would  be  a  bleak  and  barren  waste 
Where  flowers  shed  no  fragrance  o'er  the  scene, 

And  death — misnamed  of  Terrors — be  embraced 
In  welcome  sweetness  as  a  pleasant  dream, 

If  in  my  future  was  no  sphere  for  thee 

In  which  to  shape  and  rule  my  destiny. 


XIV. 

Another  gaze  !  and  now  the  trembling  string 

Of  my  weak  lyre  must  cease  its  wand'ring  strain- 

And  yet,  'tis  not  the  breath  of  fancy's  wing 
That  'wakens  notes  that  may,  alas,  be  vain, 

For  on  the  spirit-altar,  tones  divine 

Make  music  'round  the  heart's  enchanting  shrine. 


THE  MINIATURE.  101 


XV. 


I  love  thee,  WIFE  !     Life's  holiest  thought  is  thine  ! 

For  thee  I'd  dare  the  steep  ascent  of  fame, 
And  with  the  trophied  laurels  proudly  twine 

In  fadeless  wreaths  the  letters  of  thy  name 
Now  glassed  upon  the  mirror  of  my  soul, 
To  keep  me  free  from  sin  and  earth's  control. 


LA    BAGATELLE. 


WRITTEN    IN    CHURCH 


I. 


A  HUNDRED  eyes,  a  hundred  eyes,  Ned, 

All  beaming  gently  bright, 
Are  tempting  prize,  are  tempting  prize,  Ned, 

To  win  an  anchorite. 
There's  black  and  blue,  there's  black  and  blue,  Ned? 

A  careless  thing  to  you, 
And  yet  to  you  I  own  'tis  true,  Ned, 

I  once  preferred  the  blue. 


II. 


'Twas  at  a  time,  a  charming  time,  Ned — - 
In  confidence  'tis  told — 


LA  BAGATELLE.  108 

In  folly's  prime,  in  folly's  prime,  Ned, 

When  I  was  young  and  bold. 
I  dared  to  love,  I  dared  to  love,  Ned, 

This  charming  eye  of  blue, 
And  hard  I  strove,  and  hard  I  strove,  Ned, 

To  win  the  charmer  too. 


m. 


My  harp  was  strung,  with  garlands  hung,  Ned, 

And  fancy  touched  the  strings, 
While  passion  sung,  the  flowers  among,  Ned, 

Its  wild  imaginings. 
I  saw  a  tear,  a  trembling  tear,  Ned, 

O'erflow  its  crystal  cell, 
And  Hope  did  cheer  with  flattering  cheer,  Ned, 

Much  more  than  tongue  can  tell. 


IV. 


I  touched  again  with  tender  strain,  Ned, 

The  string  made  doubly  dear — 
'Twas  all  in  vain — it  broke  in  twain,  Ned, 

Alas,  the  faithless  tear. 
And  now  I'm  free,  as  ever  free,  Ned, 

To  sport  with  Beauty's  chain, 
Too  soon  to  be,  perhaps  with  thee,  Ned, 

Far  worse  entwined  again. 


10J:  LA  BAGATELLE. 


V. 


So  many  eyes,  of  various  dyes,  Ned, 

All  beaming  gently  bright, 
Are  tempting  prize  to  win  the  sighs,  Ned, 

Of  e'en  an  anchorite. 
Then  how  can  we,  oh  how  can  we,  Ned. 

Who  love  a  glance  so  well, 
Hope  long  to  be,  all  fancy  free,  Ned, 

Untouched  by  beauty's  spell. 


THE   GIRL  ON  COLLINS  STREET- 


I. 


IN  storied  verse  and  olden  song 

We're  told  of  maidens  fair, 
Whose  glance  could  e'er  disarm  the  strong 

Or  strengthen  wan  despair. 
Such  beauty's  charm  is  lingering  yet, 

And  yet  the  homage  meet ; 
A  peerless  one  I  oft  have  met — 

The  girl  on  Collins  Street. 


n. 


I've  heard  the  sweet  Parnassian  lyre 
In  beauty's  praise  awake, 

And  quivering  with  poetic  fire, 
The  marble  heart  would  break. 


106  THE  GIRL  ON  COLLINS  STREET. 

But  never  strain  that  Genius  sung 
In  Delian  numbers  sweet, 

Did  more  to  maiden  fair  belong 
Than  her  on  Collins  Street. 


in. 


I've  seen  the  lovely  Southern  maid 

Full  blest  with  beauty's  charms, 
And  Northern  girls  in  smiles  arrayed 

Whom  truth  and  virtue  warms  ; 
The  Eastern  fair  with  polished  mind 

And  Western  ones  I  meet, 
But  ne'er  the  counterpart  could  find 

Of  her  on  Collins  Street. 


IV. 


The  lovely  form  of  Grecian  mould, 

And  face  enwreathed  with  smiles, 
The  tress  of  raven  and  of  gold 

And  eye  that  love  beguiles, 
Have  often  stirred  the  heart's  deep  strain 

Of  music  wildly  sweet, 
But  none  could  prompt  its  best  refrain 

Like  her  on  Collins  Street. 


THE  GIKL  ON  COLLINS  STREET.        107 


V. 


I've  sat  and  worshipped  at  her  side, 

In  summer's  quiet  even, 
When  Hope  has  whispered  of  a  bride, 

To  make  of  earth  a  Heaven. 
I've  gazed  upon  her  features  fair 

And  beauty  all  complete, 
And  thought  that  none  could  e'er  compare 

With  her  on  Collins  Street. 


VI. 


I  lingered  on  each  gentle  tone 

From  her  sweet  lips  that  fell, 
And  marked  how  bright  her  clear  eyes  shone 

That  pierced  my  bosom's  cell. 
The  pinioned  hours  flew  swiftly  by, 

And  fast  my  pulses  beat — 
I  could  not  speak-— but  oft  did  sigh 

For  her  on  Collins  Street. 


VII. 

The  fondest  dreams  e'er  fancy  knew 
Within  my  heart  found  birth, 

And  hope  was  tinged  with  radiant  hue, 
As  vernal  blooms  of  earth. 


108  THE  GIRL  ON  COLLINS  STREET. 

The  sky  of  life  seemed  bright  and  fair 
As  mingling  rays  that  meet, 

And  then  to  woo,  I've  thought  I'd  dare 
The  girl  on  Collins  Street. 


VIII. 


With  this  resolve  one  eve  I  went, 

The  moon  shone  clear  above, 
And  all  the  starry  firmament 

Seemed  poetry  and  love. 
I  quaffed  the  soul-inspiring  scene, 

And  felt  its  influence  sweet, 
While  dreaming  of  my  heart's  dear  queen. 

The  girl  on  Collins  Street. 


XI. 


With  hope  elate  and  heart  of  love 

I  touched  the  sounding  wire, 
Its  thrilling  music  did  but  move 

My  love's  impassioned  fire. 
The  door  flew  wide,  but  what,  alas  ! 

My  anxious  eyes  did  greet ! 
Nine  hats — like  spectres  in  the  pass — 

Of  beaux  on  Collins  Street. 


THE  GIRL  ON  COLLINS  STREET.  109 


X. 


My  memory  oft  recalls  that  hour 

And  all  the  thoughts  it  gave, 
When  hope  decayed  like  blasted  flower 

And  happ'ness  found  a  grave. 
The  sudden  shock  which  moved  me  then 

My  startled  nerves  repeat, 
As  oft  the  memory  comes  again 

Of  beaux  on  Collins  Street. 


XI. 


Those  hats  like  ghouls  their  vigils  keep 

Around  my  thoughts  by  day, 
And  e'en  when  locked  in  dreamy  sleep 

Like  spectres  haunt  their  prey. 
Sometimes  I  feel  renewed  love's  spell. 

And  should  I  chance  to  meet 
Those  hats  no  more,  all  may  be  well 

With  me  on  Collins  Street. 


10 


POEM, 

Delivered  before  the  Mercantile  Library  Association 
San  Francisco,  California,  1853. 


No  paltry  task  my  humble  Muse  essays- 
Unused  to  bask  beneath  the  solar  blaze — 
As  like  some  maiden  coy,  she  views  the  lyre, 
And  blushing  hopes,  yet  trembles  to  aspire. 
When  Homer  touched  the  lyre's  slumbering  chord 
It  woke  to  music  and  the  world  adored ; 
When  Maro's  harp  with  garden  riches  twined 
By  rural  themes  entranced  the  public  mind, 
The  air  all  laden  with  the  wealth  of  praise 
Resigned  its  freight  in  homage  to  his  lays. 
When  Tasso  touched  with  true  promethean  fire 
Sent  forth  the  echos  of  a  magic  lyre, 
The  nations  owned  the  beatific  strain 
And  Heaven  gladdened  at  the  Poet's  reign. 


POEM.  Ill 

When  Milton  rapt  with  dreams  of  richest  light 
Looked  up  to  Heaven  and  soared  in  daring  flight, 
The  holiest  honors  of  the  tuneful  Nine 
Were  wreathed  to  decorate  his  Muse's  shrine. 
Not  such  the  dream  an  humble  bard  inspires 
Whose  trembling  Muse  to  lesser  heights  aspires  ; 
Who  ne'er  has  known  to  build  the  palaced  rhyme 
Nor  breathed  the  odors  of  the  Minstrel's  clime. 
Well  may  she  pause  and  seek  to  shun  the  flight 
That  palsies  now  her  pinions  with  affright, — 
But  lured  by  smiles,  and  by  your  favor  won, 
She  braves  the  task,  with  flattering  trust  begun. 


I. 


As  slowly  sinks  th'  expiring  God  of  Day — 

Its  track  sublime  throughout  its  lengthened  way— 

The  occidental  wave  invites  to  rest 

The  shining  Monarch  on  its  limpid  breast, 

And  ere  his  burning  car  to  view  is  lost 

His  latest  beam  lights  up  our  golden  coast. 

This  land,  which,  like  some  tale  of  fairy  seems 

The  fancied  fable  of  the  Poet's  dreams, 

Like  Pallas  armed,  proclaimed  its  magic  birth — 

The  monarch-splendor  of  the  startled  earth. 

To  it  as  to  the  Mecca's  sainted  shrine 

The  pilgrim-world  began  its  march  sublime, — 

The  calm,  the  rash,  the  wise  and  zealot,  all 

Renouncing  home,  its  ties  and  kindred  thrall. 


112  POEM. 

Not  all  the  wealth  of  legendary  lore 
From  which  the  Minstrel  heaps  his  hoarded  store,, 
Nor  fancies  thronging  on  the  Poet's  brain 
In  fond  accord,  or  wild,  disordered  train, 
Such  marvel  to  the  gazing  world  conveyed — 
Such  seeming  false  in  holiest  truth  arrayed. 
The  Bard  whose  lyre  by  Fable's  Goddess  strung. 
Th'  enchanting  strains  of  weird  Tradition  sung, 
Ne'er  dreamed  'mid  fictions  of  the  fertile  mind, 
The  Real,  which  this  golden  land  enshrined. 
Where  freedom  dwells  or  haughty  despots  reign, 
And  vile  oppression  boasts  a  hallowed  name, 
The  same  ambitious  dreams  the  heart  inspired 
And  Fancy  fashioned  what  the  Hope  desired. 
Thus  'roused,  and  starting  from  lethargic  sleep, 
Their  straining  eyes  looked  o'er  the  mighty  deep, 
And  to  their  anxious  visions  came  the  sight 
Of  Goddess  throwing  off  the  robes  of  night, 
And  then  her  glittering  garments  they  behold 
As  waves  a  queenly  sceptre  o'er  the  land  of  gold. 
To  Fancy's  eye  the  glistening  shore  did  seem, 
More  bright  by  far  than  Grecian  minstrel's  dream. 
And  as  they  viewed,  imagination  warm 
New  beauties  gave,  enriched  with  every  charm, 
'Till  lost  in  wonder,  in  amazement  lost, 
Each  thought  was  haunted  by  the  distant  Coast. 


POEM.  113 


II. 


It  seemed  a  land  that  basked  beneath  the  sun 

Whose  genial  smiles  upon  it  ever  shone, 

Where  fruits  and  flowers  in  its  green  parterres 

Would  homage  yield  from  Nature's  worshippers, 

And  Nature's  self  by  rosy  wreaths  in  thrall 

Would  vie  in  mirth  with  joyous  Bacchanal. 

A  land  whose  streams  are  rich  with  precious  ores, 

And  tempting  Naiads  more  than  Grecian  shores, 

Whose  mountains  bathing  in  eternal  snows 

O'erlook  the  vales  that  sleep  in  sweet  repose, 

Where  summer  smiling,  with  its  gorgeous  train 

Sheds  o'er  the  scene  the  glories  of  its  reign. 

A  land  with  hills  the  Arcadian  fancy  saw 

With  Oreads  filled — unknown  to  Nature's  law — - 

And  fountains  graced  by  water-nymphs  that  lave 

Their  beauties  in  the  fresh,  translucent  wave. 

A  land  whose  mountains,  hills  and  vales  and  plains, 

Whose  streams,  and  fountains  breathing  music's  strains, 

Are  rich  with  treasures  to  the  eye  unseen 

And  give  to  truth  the  semblance  of  a  dream. 

The  while  they  sought,  the  hopeful  fancy  grew, 

And  splendors  brightened  on  the  pilgrim's  view ; 

The  stony  mountain  in  its  height  serene, 

And  valley  blooming  in  eternal  green, 

All,  turning  like  the  fabled  dream  of  old 

By  Midas'  touch  to  heaps  of  massive  gold. 

no 


114  POEM. 


III. 


Lo  !     Now  the  mighty  throng  of  pilgrims  stand 

Exulting  on  the  Western  Ocean's  strand, 

The  peril  past — the  mountain  and  the  deep — 

Kind  fortune  smiles  and  cares  forget  to  weep. 

Upon  the  drowsy  world  begins  to  break 

The  dawn  of  truth  to  bid  its  legions  wake 

From  slumbers  by  despotic  poppies  shed, 

And  own  the  memories  of  their  horrors  fled. 

The  tinsel  drapery  of  thrones  conceals 

But  ill  what  human  misery  reveals, 

And  man  by  power  forced  to  kiss  the  rod 

Will  smite  the  smiter  'neath  the  smile  of  God. 

The  law  of  might  will  yield  to  lordly  right, 

The  sword  by  Justice  sheathed  will  shun  the  fight, 

And  Earth's  proud  Monarchs  like  their  Serfs  will  be? 

A  people  Sovereign,  happy,  proud  and  free, 

Wise  Heaven  marks  the  spot  for  freedom's  home 

Where  towering  minaret  and  lofty  dome 

Shall  seek  in  pride  to  reach  the  vaulted  skies 

And  be  a  solace  for  Oppression's  sighs. 

Of  every  nation,  age,  complexion,  race, 

Th'  anomoly  of  human  kind  we  trace  ; 

Religions,  creeds  and  fantasies  repose 

In  mild,  indulgent  humor  to  their  foes, 

And  all  in  seeming  harmony  unite 

To  wrestle  in  ambition's  zealous  fight. 


POEM.  115 

Here  rests  the  Briton's  rage  'gainst  Gallic  foes 
And  sleeps  the  Frenchman's  fury  in  repose  ; 
Here  Austrian  pride  forgetful  of  its  ha\;e 
Bohemia's  sons  discerns  in  equal  state, 
And  exiles  driven  from  Hungarian  shore 
Their  wrongs  retain  but  feel  their  fears  no  more. 
The  titled  Noble,  with  ancestral  pride, 
Scorns  not  the  low-born  subject  at  his  side  ; 
The  wise,  the  princely,  and  the  worldly  great 
No  honors  claim  o'er  humbler  man's  estate  ; 
By  rank,  distinction,  wealth,  degree, 
N  o  form  is  hallowed  and  the  mind  is  free  ; 
Sole  patent  of  man's  noble  birth  we  claim, 
Not  royal  favors,  but  an  honest  name. 
All  here  alike,  the  humble  and  the  proud, 
Unheeding  join  ambition's  eager  crowd, 
And  each  doth  vie  with  each  to  win  the  prize, 
The  soil  auriferous  in  its  wealth  supplys. 
Europe  her  multifarious  offspring  sends, 
And  Asia  with  its  dusky  hordes  attends, 
And  e'en  the  Aztec  with  remembrance  strong, 
Though  unforgiving,  swells  the  motely  throng. 


IV. 


But  most  the  victors  of  this  chosen  land 
The  muse  exalts — and  audience  does  demand — 
Who  'roused  by  country's  wrongs  to  seize  the  sword 
Did  hurl  just  vengeance  on  the  Aztec  horde, 


116  POEM. 

And  from  the  haughty  Mexic'  tore  the  crest 
And  plucked  this  gem  from  off  her  bleeding  breast, 
Went  forth  the  champions  of  the  deathless  right. 
Like  heroes  proud  to  woo  the  willing  fight, 
As  fiercely  shrieked  the  eagle's  piercing  cry, 
Which  told  the  Condor's  hateful  brood  were  nigh. 
The  brave  battalia  formed  in  stern  array, 
And  beating  hearts  were  eager  for  the  fray  ; 
And  now  at  sound  of  drum  and  thrilling  fife 
The  warriors  march,  impatient  for  the  strife. 
They  went  as  did  of  yore  their  nobler  sires, 
Who  burned  with  freedom's  sublimated  fires, 
While  in  their  glowing  cheeks  and  glistening  eyes 
Forth  flashed  the  dauntless  spirit  of  emprise, 
And  as  the  eagle  ensign  o'er  them  streams 
They  pant  to  blazon  it  with  honor's  beams. 
That  banner  bears  the  imprint  of  their  fame, 
And  from  its  starry  folds  each  deathless  name 
Will  ever  in  immortal  glory  stream, 
And  mock  the  splendors  of  the  fading  dream. 
The  grateful  tongues  of  millions  yet  unborn 
.  Shall  keep  their  deeds  as  fresh  as  dewy  morn, 
And  while  the  sun  shall  on  earth's  fragments  glo 
Their  fame  will  link  with  name  of  Mexico. 


V. 


When  war's  alarms  no  longer  woke  the  day, 
And  Peace  resumed  her  mild,  benignant  sway, 


POEM.  117 

And  from  the  foe  this  ocean-gem  was  torn 

In  just  requital  of  her  causeless  scorn, 

The  bold,  brave  hearts  that  then  in  triumph  shone 

Now  seek  the  land  their  priceless  valor  won. 

Towards  the  setting  sun  their  faces  turned, 

And  strong  emotions  in  each  bosom  burned 

As  sped  the  bark  beneath  the  bending  sail, 

Or  braved  the  pilgrim's  heart  the  mountain  gale. 

How  sad  the  memories  on  the  bosom  throng 

And  fill  with  tears  the  Muse's  mournful  song. 

The  quiet  home,  the  cherished  social  hearth, 

The  scenes  which  gave  indulgent  childhood  mirth  ; 

The  stream  that  crept  beneath  the  flowering  vine 

Where  youth  did  sport  in  boyhood's  sunny  time, 

The  garden  swelling  with  its  wealth  of  flowers 

Its  odorous  incense  on  the  morning  hours, 

And  all  the  scenes  by  hallowing  fondness  blest, 

In  vain,  could  still  the  haunted  soul's  unrest. 

The  holy  trysting  place  where  lovers  met 

To  hide  their  fondness  and  their  fears  forget, 

To  breathe  the  vows  by  lovers  only  spoken 

And  guard  the  trust  by  faithful  hearts  unbroken  ; 

And  e'en  the  idol  of  the  dreaming  heart, 

The  fond  Egeria,  of  the  soul  a  part, 

Who  when  the  stars  alone  their  vigils  kept, 

At  passion's  holy  breathing's  fondly  wept, 

Were  reft  of  power,  their  witching  spells  disowned. 

And  mad  ambition  in  their  stead  enthroned. 

One  look,  one  fond  and  lingering  look  was  all 

The  heart  betrayed,  then  broke  the  silken  thrall, 


1x8  POEM. 

And  onward  then,  and  still  the  speedy  flight 

To  new-born  realms  now  glittering  on  the  sight. 

O'er  mighty  plains  the  pilgrim  bends  his  way, 

Nor  can  untrodden  wilds  his  soul  dismay  ; 

To  him  the  arid  rock  or  fertile  ground 

Alike,  alike  the  awful  waste  around ; 

He  sees  one  only  star,  one  guiding  light, 

And  onward  hastes  through  danger's  thickening  night. 

Oh,  who  can  tell  the  secrets  of  that  soul 

As  throbbing  under  passion's  wild  control, 

He  hurry's  from  the  hopes  of  earlier  years, 

Nor  bathes  remembrance  in  repenting  tears  ! 

What  eye  can  read  the  depths  of  that  stern  heart, 

From  early  memories  rudely  torn  apart, 

As  'mid  the  silence  of  untroubled  night 

Thought  wooes  the  happy  realms  of  earlier  light ! 

What  hopes,  what  varied  dreams  are  now  inspired, 

Before  unknown,  nor  to  the  heart  desired  ! 

How  oft  o'er  all  the  withering  simoom  came, 

And  hopes,  and  visions  fraught  with  golden  fame, 

Like  summer  dreams  the  orange  groves  beneath, 

Were  swept  as  autumn  leaves  before  its  breath. 

Where  yon  Sierras  lift  their  frowning  forms, 

Around  whose  summits  play  eternal  storms, 

Many  a  wearied  pilgrim  paused  to  rest, 

And  sunk  supinely  on  the  mountain's  crest. 

Though  full  in  view  the  tempting  goal  appears, 

To  crown  their  hopes  and  dissipate  their  fears, 

Like  him,  who  once  on  Pisgah's  summit  stood, 

They  saw,  but  ne'er  could  reach,  the  promised  good. 


POEM.  119 

Now  wintry  blasts  sweep  o'er  each  manly  head, 
And  sing  the  only  requiem  for  the  dead. 


VI. 


But  on,  my  trembling  Muse,  nor  still  prolong, 
The  saddened  echos  of  unhappy  song. 
A~lofty  theme  thy  feeble  praises  claim, 
And  tasks  the  faltering  tribute  of  thy  strain. 
Where'er  the  eye  its  truant  gaze  compels, 
A  world  of  magic  in  the  circle  dwells, 
And  in  its  charmed  sphere  we  still  advance, 
And  breathe  the  odorous  breezes  of  romance. 
Of  late,  along  this  occidental  shore, 
The  red-browed  Monarch,  skill'd  in  savage  lore, 
Rejoiced  on  crimson  fields  to  vaunt  his  pride, 
And  covet  fame  on  battle's  swelling  tide. 
Was  his,  the  mighty  mountain,  and  the  plain, 
And  his,  the  prospect  of  the  boundless  main, 
And  streams  that  rolled  their  silver  tides  along, 
And  hills  that  echoed  to  his  native  song. 
The  flame  of  Thought  that  o'er  the  Nation's  spread, 
To  startle  Monarchs  wi.th  untimely  dread, 
Make  kingdom's  crumble  at  their  fickle  base, 
And  Empires  pause  to  gaze  on  Freedom's  face — 
This  darkened  spot  illumed  with  wondrous  light, 
And  Wisdom's  radiance  shed  o'er  Error's  Night. 
His  native  haunts  no  more  the  savage  treads 
With  bounding  pulse,  and  heart  no  danger  dreads, 


120  POEM. 

But  exiled  from  the  peace  of  other  days, 

His  home  no  longer  beams  with  tranquil  blaze. 

The  bending  sky  looks  darkly  on  his  fate, 

And  all  his  hopes  of  earth  are  desolate — 

Alas  !  the  feeble  wand'rer  well  may  crave 

The  only  boon  that's  left  him  now — a  grave  ! 

The  drowsy  Aztec  and  his  Indian  foe,    7^  , 

Like  ocean-waves  receding  in  their  flow, 

Are  wasting  fast  upon  their  native  soil,  ;,  :-, 

Where  freedom  wakens  'neath  the  sun  of  toil. 

The  morning  light  that  bathed  them  in  its  beams, 

When  manhood's  pride  was  flush'd  with  happy  dreams. 

Sheds  brightly  now,  its  wide,  expanded  glow, 

O'er  hills  and  streams,  that  swell  with  music's  flow, 

Where  mightier  sovereigns  wield  the  conqu'ring  rod, 

And  own  o'er  all,  the  righteous  hand  of  God. 

Here  Freedom  now  its  mighty  temple  rears, 

To  light  with  hope  the  dawn  of  coming  years, 

And  give  to  earth  the  more  than  magic  beam, 

That  wisdom  hallows  with  awakened  dream. 

A  star  has  risen  in  the  western  sky, 
Whose  light  doth  seem  like  Heaven's  beauteous  eye, 
And  o'er  the  earth  its  quivering  beams  are  thrown, 
Like  radiance  from  Aurora's  dazzling  throne. 
No  comet's  wildness  marks  its  wondrous  birth, 
Or  lightning's  gleams  that,  flash  and  darken  earth, 
But  brilliant  as  the  noon-tide's  fervent  rays, 
It  shines  with  steady  and  increasing  blaze  ! 


POEM. 


Pacific  planet  hail  !     Luxurious  coast  I 
Of  every  land  the  freeman's  proudest  boast  ! 
What  forms  of  shining  splendor  'round  thee  throng, 
And  swell  the  accents  of  melodious  song  ! 
The  gentle  Peace  with  cadence  fills  the  air, 
And  Graces,  in  harmonious*  numbers  rare, 
Unite  with  Muses  to  enhance  the  strain, 
While  Plenty  follows  with  her  jovial  train. 
Here  Labor  with  gigantic  arm  outspread, 
Bids  Hunger  leave  in  hope  its  crumbless  shed, 
And  Wisdom  too  puts  Indolence  to  shame, 
And  loses  it  the  trophies  of  its  reign. 
Here  Learning  guides,  and  reign'd  by  virtue's  laws, 
The  noblest  homage  to  its  Temple  draws, 
And  scanning  Earth  as  with  an  Eagle's  gaze, 
Sees  Nations  basking  in  its  future  blaze. 
The  fondest  dreams  the  Saxon's  hope  inspires, 
His  heart  inflames,  and  all  his  being  fires. 
He  braved  the  Stony  Mountain  and  the  sand, 
And  ocean  wave,  at  freedom's  blest  command, 
And  still  Ambition,  monarch  of  his  breast, 
Obedience  owns  to  freedom's  high  behest. 
Along  his  beaten  track,  o'er  drought  and  sand, 
Where  teeming  life  but  waits  th'  enchanter's  wand, 
The  iron-steed  with  lightning  hoof  will  fly 
Like  meteor-gleam  athwart  the  desert  sky, 
And  bear  from  clime  to  clime  with  matchless  worth 
The  gorgeous  treasures  of  the  teeming  earth. 
What  dreams  of  wealth,  and  hope  and  future  fame, 
Encircle  now,  the  Saxon's  shining  name  ! 
11 


122  POEM. 

The  Orient  unlocks  its  portals  wide, 
And  Asia  floats  its  treasures  on  the  tide  ; 
The  wealth  of  India  and  the  ocean  isles. 
Enchants  the  eye  and  freights  the  heart  with  smiles, 
And  scarce  the  Saxon  wish  e'er  moves  the  air 
Ere  all  their  opulence  repays  his  care. 
Nor  yet  is  ancient  Babylon  forgot, 
Whose  riches  crowned  that  city's  happier  lot, 
Nor  cities  vast  which  Commerce  built  of  yore 
Along  the  Tiber,  and  Euphrates'  shore. 
The  wealth  of  Tyre,  and  Sidon's  equal  fame, 
That  sprang  from  Commerce  wafting  o'er  the  main, 
v  The  Saxon's  heart  with  kindred  wish  inspires, 
And  fortune  grants  whate'er  ihe  hope  desires. 
Already  'round  the  Freedom-Goddess'  throne 
The  Queen  of  Commerce  draws  her  shining  zone, 
And  now,  from  every  nation,  mart  and  clime, 
Brings  riches  vaster  than  Golconda's  mine. 
The  peerless  Clipper,  monarch  of  our  bays, 
With  willing  sheets  unfurled,  its  anchor  weighs, 
And  in  its  winged  flight  on  ocean's  breast 
Becomes  of  every  clime  a  favored  guest. 
Where  flows  the  Danube,  or  the  Ganges'  tide, 
The  Po,  or  Nile's  impetuous  waters  glide, 
The  wealth  that  glistens  on  each  distant  shore, 
In  richest  streams  upon  our  Commerce  pour. 
On  earth,  there's  not  a  tide  or  stream  that  flows  ; 
No  winter's  wind,  or  summer  breeze  that  blows ; 


POEM. 


123 


No  raj  of  morning  light,  or  sunshine  warm  ; 
No  flower  that  falls,  or  rose's  blooming  charm  ; 
But  each  doth  hoard  its  treasures'  richest  store, 
And  plant  their  fulness  on  our  favored  shore. 


THE  END. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $T.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


»       *                                 P  --3 

f.-Ai    22  1S31 

CMSMf  ^%M  II  1             i 

J#= 

btK  I  UIM  ILL 

_J1M_11J997_ 

—  U^C,  BERKELEY 

•SRtfT  ^m  i 

••  ICt 

DEC  1  ?  2001 

O.  C  BFRKELEY 

^ 

LD  21-100m-8,'34 

.YB 


141719 


-..  «r 


